


Prompts Collection: Clexa

by nutalexfanfic



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-05-27 05:35:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 44
Words: 124,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6271825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nutalexfanfic/pseuds/nutalexfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of clexa prompts</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wanheda, Regent Commander, Sucker for Bribes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Lexa has to go away for some Heda stuff and Clarke rules in her absence as her wife/wanheda and misses Lexa.

Clarke hated the seasons that took Lexa out on week-long hunting trips, especially the spring season. The warm weather always seemed to instill a restlessness in the young warriors across the land, often leading to ruckus and skirmishes she, as Wanheda and regent Heda while Lexa was away, had to sort out.  Clarke was not built for politics of peace. She was clever and fearless, aggressive and cool under pressure–she made a great wartime politician. With the wars finally over, her life finally calm and filled with joy at Lexa’s side, she was never more comfortable than she was now. Except that is, when Titus brought before her a small group of grumbling, bloodied warriors who had taken it among themselves to decide who had rights to a local beauty.  **  
**

She rubbed her head in annoyance as she sat upon her throne that had been carved to match Lexa’s. The commander had been gone for nearly six days now, and would be returning with the hunting party any minute. She had come so close to watching over Polis without any disturbances, just as she liked it.  Since marrying Lexa and joining their peoples, Clarke felt at home among the Grounders, but she didn’t think she would ever quite feel comfortable ruling over them the way Lexa did. So she sighed and tried her best to project the air of confidence and dominion that Lexa did so naturally upon the throne.

“Wanheda, your decision?” Titus’s voice cut through her thoughts and she was drawn back to the small band of rowdy warriors before her.

Clarke cleared her throat and glared at the warriors more in annoyance than anything else.  “Women are not objects to be won or claimed,” she began. “You know this and yet you bloodied your fellow kru for a right to one anyways. Explain yourselves.”    

The oldest man, not more than twenty, looked up at her sheepishly and cleared his throat. “Forgive us, Wanheda, we momentarily acted in a way unfitting of the warriors of Heda’s coalition. We apologize. It won’t happen again.”

Clarke nodded curtly and turned to Titus. “Who is the woman they were fighting over?”

“Azala kom Trikru, Wanheda. She is a healer’s daughter living in Polis.”

Clarke turned back to the band of warriors who were shifting uncomfortably in the middle of the vast throne room.  “You’re lucky Heda is not here to handle this,” she said with a small quirk of her lips. Although greatly respected by the Grounders, Clarke had garnered a reputation of benevolence in comparison to the harsher, more severe Heda, and the people loved her for it. She rounded out Lexa well and they ruled in perfect harmony together.

The warriors allowed themselves a small smile and a grateful nod as Clarke sent them on their way with the promise that they would apologize to Azala kom Trikru.

“Sha, Wanheda. Mochof,” they murmured as Titus shuffled them out of the room.

Clarke sat back on her throne and let out a long breath as the heavy double doors closed with a hushed slam.  She closed her eyes and allowed the warm sun streaming in from the balcony behind her to lull her into a deep relaxation. She didn’t sleep well when Lexa was away and as she sat there in a moment of peace and quiet, she let her mind still and her body slump.

A chuckle nearby startled her awake what could have been seconds or maybe minutes later. Although, she suspected it had only been seconds as Titus generally did not take a liking to Clarke’s occasional naps in the throne room and would have waken her had it been minutes. _The throne room is for serious matters_ , he had  once chided her in Trigedasleng when he found her asleep for the first time, curled up in her oversized throne. Clarke could only laugh at the thought of what Titus would say if only he knew what she and Lexa had the habit of getting up to in the throne room when no one was around.

She blinked rapidly against the light sleep that had drifted over her and smiled when she saw Octavia’s angular face peering down at her.

“Octavia,” she greeted warmly.

Octavia smirked and shook her head. “Who knew ruling would look so tired on you,” she teased.

Clarke rolled her eyes and pushed herself up out of the throne. “Did you need something?”

“Just came to let you know that the wifey is back,” the warrior said with a sly grin.

Titus cleared his throat from behind them as he walked in.

This time it was Octavia who rolled her eyes. “ _Sorry_ ,” she directed at Titus, “I mean _Heda_ is back.”

Titus nodded curtly and the two girls shared a grin.

“Octavia is right,” he said turning to Clarke, “Heda has returned with the hunting party. She has asked for you.”

It had been almost a year since she and Lexa had married, and still the thought of her mighty commander returning home after a long week and immediately asking for her made something light flutter in her chest.

“Thank you, Titus,” she replied, trying hard to keep down the smile that so desperately wanted to spread across her face.

 

She found her in the midsts of a gaggle of children as the commander spoke with a horse stall attendant to whom she was handing her horse.  Clarke could tell by the symphony of voices and cheers in the distance that the rest of the hunting party was still making their way through the heart of the capital with their spoils.  Clearly, Lexa had rushed ahead and was followed by a group of admiring children, per usual. She laughed distractedly as the children pulled on her cape and risked furtive touches at the weapons that hung around her waist and legs while she talked to the stable hand. She rubbed her horse’s neck as they spoke, occasionally swatting away small hands that got too close to her sword. This always earned a fit of giggles from the children as the child caught would rush to the back of the group to hide among the hoards.

Clarke couldn’t help but stare at the sweetness of the scene. The mighty Heda was always more gentle with her people in Polis than when she was outside of the capital, yet it always seemed to take Clarke a little by surprise just how tender Lexa could truly be.

When Lexa turned, as if sensing her presence, and met Clarke’s eyes, she smiled softly and nodded in subtle greeting. Clarke flushed, aware that she had been caught staring, and waited as patiently as she could while Lexa finished speaking with the man. They clasped arms moments later and Lexa turned to find herself still swarmed by enthralled children.

Clarke watched as she bent down and drew them in, whispering and laughing with them as they watched her, totally engaged. They nodded excitedly at something she said and hopped up and down in anticipation.  Moments later, they took off in a hoard of giggles, pushing and shoving each other to get ahead. Lexa chuckled as she watched them go.

It felt like ages by the time the commander finally made it over to Clarke.

“Lexa,” Clarke breathed, relieved to finally have Lexa back home, safe and happy.

Lexa placed her hands on Clarke’s hips and pulled them together, their faces inches apart as their foreheads rested on each other’s.

“Ai hodnes,” Lexa replied quietly, “I’ve missed you.”

Clarke answered with a soft kiss, loving the way Lexa’s strong fingers gripped a little harder on her hips at the action.  “What did you tell them?” She asked, finally pulling back.

“Hm?”

“The children–what did you tell them?”

Lexa smiled, but before she could answer, a small boy slammed into Clarke’s legs and tugged at the hem of her shirt. In his outstretched hand was a small bundle of white wildflowers. “Wanheda,” he panted, “for you!”

Clarke took the flowers with a look of amused confusion towards Lexa.  The commander simply gave her a small smile, revealing nothing.  

The boy turned to Lexa with expectant, nervous eyes.

“Very nice, Americus,” Lexa prased. “And the others?”

The boy beamed. “I beat them. They were distracted by the hunting party. I’ve won!”

Lexa laughed and Clarke’s stomach flipped at the sound. Rarely did Lexa allow herself a moment of such joy in public.  

“It would seem so, little warrior. Turn,” she instructed and the boy happily did so. Lexa kneeled and her deft hands went to work on a strand of the boys hair, churning out a small braid in seconds. She pulled a small, brown feather from one of her own braids and attached it to the boy’s. She patted him on the head when finished and the boy’s small hand flew to his hair, fingering his new braid in awe.

“There. Americus kom Floudonkru,” she held out her arm and the young boy grasped it enthusiastically. Clarke could tell he was attempting to be serious, but the smile couldn’t be kept from his face. “You are now a young warrior of the Coalition. Ste yuj.”

The boy bowed his head, and spoke proudly and puffed out his chest. “Ai badannes ste kamp raun ai Heda.”***

With a smile, the commander shooed the boy away and returned to Clarke’s side who had been watching quietly. She had a content smile on her face that turned into a small chuckle when Lexa pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“Did you seriously bribe young children with entrance into the coalition’s army to bring me gifts?”

Lexa quirked a brow and grinned. “No, Clarke. I bribed young children with entrance into the coalition’s army to bring us alone time. Now that we have some, I think I’d like to make some more bribes.”

Clarke chewed on her bottom lip mischievously. “Oh yeah? And what bribes would those be?”

Lexa leaned in and whispered in Clarke’s ear. A warming sensation rose to the sky girl’s face and began to creep lower with every breathy word the commander let slip.

“Shall we?” The commander asked, pulling back. She held out her hand and Clarke took it immediately.  She turned and pulled Lexa behind her, causing a small chuckle from the commander.

“I love hunting season,” Lexa muttered smugly.

Clarke glared at her, but the edges of her lips quirked upwards ever so slightly. “Less talking, more walking. I’ve got bribes to cash in on.”

* * *

***Translation: “ _Ai badannes ste kamp raun ai Heda”- “My allegiance is to my commander.”_


	2. Sea of Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Clarke and Lexa just had sex and during their pillow talk Lexa asks Clarke what it’s like to live in the sky.

“Do you miss it?” Lexa’s voice was small and unsure the way it often was when she asked Clarke personal questions. She knew she had been long since been forgiven and she knew that she was loved, but it would also take her a while before she stopped feeling something like an intruder in Clarke’s life. While Clarke was here with her in Polis, present, she was all hers. But asking about her past, about things her friends already knew about her so intimately–it intimidated her.

And Clarke could hear the trepidation in her lover’s voice. It made her chest ache with a dull throb. She had spent so much time being hard on Lexa and being angry with her that she had often forgotten that Lexa was just a girl. A beautiful, powerful, incredible girl. But still just a young woman who was as lost and confused in this harsh world as she was.  

There was rarely a day that went by that Clarke didn’t ache with the memories of how harshly she had rejected Lexa’s kindness in the months after the mountain.  In moments like these, with Lexa’s voice small, her touch hesitant, Clarke’s chest swelled and every part of her thrummed with a desire to hold Lexa close and reassure her. 

“Clarke?” 

Clarke turned from her little spoon position to face Lexa. The commander’s eyes were nervous, but her face was soft and flushed from their activities minutes earlier. She was stunning. 

“Sorry,” Clarke smiled. She ran her thumb along the bend of Lexa’s jaw, admiring her beautiful bone structure. “What’d you ask?” 

“I asked–if you missed it?” A part of Lexa didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to hear Clarke confirm her worst fears–that Clarke considered herself a visitor here and would never find complete peace with her in Polis. 

“Miss what?” Clarke asked. She continued to stroke Lexa’s face, attempting to erase the nerves so obvious in the micro-expressions Clarke had learned to read so well. 

Lexa’s voice was barely a whisper. “Home.” 

Clarke wasn’t entirely surprised by Lexa’s question. It had been building for weeks–Lexa dropping hints here and there in an attempt to ascertain whether Clarke was happy in Polis. She was, but she wanted Lexa to see it, not be told it. 

But here she was, asking in no uncertain terms like the stubborn, forward Heda that she was. She gave her a small smile. “Arkadia isn’t my home, Lexa. So, no. I don’t miss it.” 

Lexa cocked her head slightly, puzzled. Clarke thought it was adorable and couldn’t stop herself from quickly placing a chaste kiss to Lexa’s lips. The commander hummed in contentment. Her eyes remained momentarily closed when Clarke pulled away, but the blonde could see the moment Lexa remembered her answer. Her brow furrowed before her eyes opened to settle penetratingly on Clarke’s face.

“Not Arkadia. I meant–I meant the sky,” she said softly.

Of course she had–her philosophical commander from the ground. She had to think. Did she miss the sky? There was a lot she didn’t miss, a lot that the beauty of the ground had made her realize she hated about the sky. But there were things about the sky…

She looked back at Lexa who was waiting with big, expectant eyes. 

Clarke nodded. “Sometimes, yes. Sometimes I miss it.”

“What was it like?” Lexa’s follow up question was immediate. Like she had been waiting to ask it as soon as Clarke had given her first answer. 

Clarke sighed. “You’re in a talkative mood tonight,” she said with a smile evident in her voice. 

Lexa didn’t smile. She looked longingly at Clarke and the sky girl knew that there was something more to this. But how to describe what it had felt like to live in a floating death trap without shattering the beautiful allusion Lexa and all of the grounders had of the “sea of stars.”  She tried to think back to her favorite part of the sky. 

“It was quiet.”

“Quiet?” 

Clarke nodded. “There’s no sound in space. I mean–the Ark made sound. But it was a machine. It’s noises were all whirs and beeps and…mechanical.”

“And you miss that?” 

Clarke chuckled. “No, not at all. Well, yes. I mean,” she sighed, flustered.  “I don’t miss the machine sounds. I miss the quiet. Sometimes.  The ground is…loud. Chaotic.” 

Lexa’s face fell. She tried to hide it with a small smile and a nod, but Clarke saw it anyways. 

“It’s nice though, too.” She added quickly. “I like the sounds of the ground.” She kissed Lexa’s forehead. “I like the way the birds sing in the morning.” She kissed her cheek. “And the way the water gurgles in the river.” 

Lexa brought her hand to Clarke’s face and pulled her closer, understanding that Clarke was trying to reassure her and loving her so much for it.

Clarke pressed a warm kiss to the corner of her mouth. “I like the way the market sounds in the afternoon,and they way the children scream and giggle during festivals.” 

They pressed their foreheads together. Clarke could feel her heart rate picking up with the way Lexa was hovering over her, relief and utter adoration clouding her eyes. 

“I like the way Trigedasleng rolls off your tongue.” 

Lexa took Clarke’s lower lip between her teeth gently. Clarke exhaled through her nose and forced her eyes to stay open. 

“I like your voice–” 

The commander was flush on top of her now, her lips searing into Clarke’s as the younger girl clutched at the warm, bare skin of her back. 

“I miss the quiet of the sky sometimes,” Clarke panted as Lexa moved to her neck. Lexa nipped at the sensitive skin just below her jaw. Clarke moaned in the back of her throat. 

With a racing heart and quick breaths, Clarke brought her fingers to Lexa’s chin and brought the older girl’s face back to hers. “ _You’re_ my home, Lexa. And the quiet of the sky will will never compare–”  Clarke slid her hand down Lexa’s flat stomach, “–to the sound of this,” and settled it between the commander’s strong thighs.

Lexa let out a low, guttural moan, her hips instinctively pressing forward for more. 

Clarke smile, intoxicated. “Yeah,” she whispered, “that’s incomparable.”


	3. Jealous Hedas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Lexa or Clarke getting jealous seeing each other interacting with other people.

Clarke told herself that this was enough. Sitting here around a bonfire with her fellow delinquents drinking some strong Polis booze.  Her head felt deliciously heavy and her body tingled warmly. Raven was in the middle of an animated story that had Octavia clutching to Lincoln in laughter. She could see that the older grounder was trying hard not to smile…he was failing miserably.

She told herself this was enough because finally there was peace and her people were in Polis, happy, safe and at ease. Bellamy was sitting next to her, quiet and calm, finally. Monty had Jasper back and Harper, Murphy and Miller were bickering lazily through slurred words. It was enough, she told herself. It was enough.

And Clarke loved Polis in the evenings. The capitol came alive when the sun dropped. Chatter and music wafted through the warm air, children played throughout the streets and the booze flowed freely among the various taverns and inns.

She liked to watch the way the grounders interacted with each other as people and not as warriors. They had a rich, social culture that she, frankly, was envious of. She told herself it was enough to be here to observe it from a periphery. It was enough to be able to roam Polis freely and safely with her small group of friends, garnering only a few strange looks here and there.

It was enough, because she was alive.

But Clarke was sick of just being alive. She was sick of being the outsider who watched from afar and only let her guard down cautiously and sparingly. Life is about more than just being alive, surviving. She herself had said that.

And when she saw _her,_ she wanted to do more than just be alive. She wanted to _live_.

From her place around the bonfire, Clarke could just barely make out Lexa’s tall, strong figure inside the city’s main tavern. The door was always propped open at night and Clarke could see into the warmly-lit place. Lexa was surrounded by her adoring people as she and a towering warrior faced off in a knife throwing game, an activity she often partook in at night now that there was relative peace and political matters could be handled during the day.

The young commander was cocky and her people loved her for it. Clarke could tell by the way Lexa twirled the knife around, snaking it through her fingers deftly, garnering drunken cheers and laughter.  She often caught herself smiling and chuckling too as she watched from afar. Tonight, though, as the alcohol coursed through her veins, she felt annoyed by the scene.

She had kissed Lexa those months ago. They had slept together and Lexa had been shot hours later. In that moment, Clarke thought that things could not get any lower. But she had been wrong. Lexa had lived, she had returned to Arkadia to deal with Pike and nothing was the same. A small war ensued, she and Lexa on opposing sides by nature of their allegiances to their people. But they were never really enemies. Clarke hated Pike as much as Lexa had, and when the coalition’s army had succeeded in assassinating him, effectively winning the small war, Clarke couldn’t exactly say she was upset.

But something had changed. When Skaikru was once again initiated into the coalition and Clarke chose to live in Polis, bringing the delinquents along with her who gladly accepted the offer of a much needed change of scenery, she expected things to be the same. She expected Lexa to look at her the way she used to–like she was the moon and the stars and everything that Lexa could not reach but tried desperately to anyways.

When she returned to Polis, however, Lexa could not or would not meet her gaze. She avoided her when possible and when circumstance forced them to speak, Lexa spoke to her only as Wanheda, ambassador of Skaikru.

So while Clarke could not deny Lexa’s beauty and the way her head thrown back in laughter made her heart warm and her lips spread into an instinctual smile, she was also very aware of the tang of bitterness that rose in her throat as she watched from afar.

“Earth to sky princess. Come in, over.”

Raven had her hand cupped to her mouth, mimicking the static of a radio and the others watched on amused.

Clarke tore her eyes away from the tavern and turned to glare at the mechanic. It was Jasper’s turn to join.

“Houston, I think we’ve got a problem. It looks like the sky princess has sex eyes for a certain grounder commander. Over.”

Clarke chucked her empty cup at Jasper who was too drunk to dodge it. It smacked him clear in the forehead causing an eruption of laughter.

“Ow, fuck! Clarke!”

“I don’t have fucking sex eyes for the commander,” she snapped, her voice harsh under the influence of alcohol and jealousy. “I just don’t understand why she can’t find time to give us the light of day, but she can spend every night in the tavern playing games.”

“And by us, you mean you. She can’t give _you_ the light of day,” Octavia clarified with a smirk.

“You know they slept together right? I’d be pissed too if the commander hit it and quit it,” Murphy chimed in, laughing. Leave it to him to be as eloquent as ever.

They all turned with wide eyes and sloppy grins. “No fuckin’ way,” Raven said with giddy excitement.

“Don’t,” Clarke growled, her eyes still boring into Murphy who was looking anywhere but her.

“Looks like Octavia isn’t the only grounder pounder among us,” Jasper slurred jovially.

“Easy,” Lincoln warned.

Jasper held up his hands in surrender, but they all knew Lincoln’s threat was empty. The older grounder had quickly become a close and trusted friend.

“Why don’t you just talk to her?” Came Monty’s sweet and naive voice. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Clarke looked at the younger boy, her face softening slightly.

“Well she could tie her to a pole and cut her to death for insubordination,” Raven said, a hint of bitterness evident behind her alcohol induced slurring.

“Raven–”

“What? You know it’s true.”

Clarke sighed and stood. “I’m going to bed.”

Her friends all protested, crying out and falling into a fit of laughter as they all rushed up, knocking into each other as they tried to stop her.

Raven held onto her arm and pulled her back. “No, don’t. Don’t, Clarke. I’m sorry. Stay. Come on, fuck Lexa.”

“She’s trying to,” Octavia cut in, snorting.

Clarke rolled her eyes and pulled away again with renewed strength.

“Shut up, Octavia! Clarke, stay. C’mon we’ve missed you.” Raven tugged on Clarke’s arm and pulled her back towards the group whose members were now standing and dancing around the fire, chanting and singing.

Clarke couldn’t deny the joy she felt at seeing her friends alive and happy, their guards down and not a hint of threat to be found. Except for maybe the large, foreboding grounders who now stood in the doorway of the tavern, drawn by the sudden commotion of the delinquents down the street.

“Looks like we have an audience,” Miller said as he swung Harper around in circles.

Clarke turned towards the tavern and eyed the small gathering of grounders at the door watching curiously. Her heartbeat quickened when she saw Lexa standing with them and could feel those green eyes piercing the distance to rest squarely on Clarke.

Clarke glared back before rolling her eyes. She grabbed Bellamy who still sat on the log around the fire, drinking quietly.

“Dance with me,” she said, a mischievous smile taking residence on her face.

Bellamy chuckled and allowed himself to be pulled up. As he spun her, Clarke dug her chin into his shoulder, attempting to keep the sloshing in her stomach from becoming anything more than that. She was doing a pretty good job of it, that is until her eyes caught a flash of brown disappearing back into the tavern. She almost growled in frustration.

 

When Lexa returned inside the tavern, her palms hurt from where her nails dug into them as they clenched into a fist.

“Heda, it’s your turn,” a tall, bearded man said as he handed Lexa a knife.

“I’m done for the night. Please, continue on without me.”

She ignored the protests that followed her as she walked out quickly. They knew not to challenge her, but they could not deny their disappointment when their young commander left. Rarely did they get to enjoy the company of her in such good spirits. The brooding Heda that stormed out of the tavern was more akin to what they were used to.

“Leave me,” she commanded with a raise of her hand. The guards trailing her looked at each other uneasily. “It is a short walk back to my room. I will be fine. Go.”

The guards bowed their heads obediently, but could not keep the skepticism from their faces. Lexa ignored them just as she ignored the sounds of skaikru’s laughter coming from down the road. She cautioned a glance over to them and felt something angry flip in her chest at the sight of Clarke clinging to Bellamy.

The anger turned to fury when she saw the blonde fighting against Bellamy’s grip. She was yelling something at him, but he continued to hold her back. The other delinquents were oblivious as they danced and joked with abandon.

 

Clarke shoved Bellamy back hard and glared at him. “I said I’m leaving, so I’m leaving. I’m tired.”

“You never spend time with us anymore, Clarke! You think you’re better than us? Or are you too grounder to be with your own people anymore? We’re so sick of you running off to play house with your precious commander!”

Clarke placed her hands on Bellamy’s chest and pushed hard. He stumbled backwards under the influence of the alcohol.

“In case you missed it, I’m not playing fucking house with the commander. We don’t even talk! That should make you happy, Bellamy. So just leave me alone. I’m going to bed.”

She stormed off towards the tower, not bothering to say goodnight to her friends or even take a glance back. She stomped across the dusty road as the sounds of the nightlife grew distant, and tried to keep from looking at the tavern as she passed.

There was no distinct reason for why she felt it…but at some point she suddenly had the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that she was being followed. She continued her march with her held high, though, determined not to be deterred. That is until she heard a small crash behind her. She wheeled on her heels, drawing her knife out of the holster on her hip, ready to fight. She froze when she saw the scene behind her.

Lexa had Bellamy pressed against the stone wall of a building, the tip of her sword at his throat.

“I believe she told you to leave her alone,” Lexda growled.

“Lexa, what the hell are you doing?” Clarke hissed. She lurched over and batted down Lexa’s sword. “Don’t ever press a blade to skaikru’s neck without just reason!”

“You do not get to say what I do and do not do, Clarke.”  Lexa’s voice was even but poisonous as she stared the man down.

Clarke grabbed Bellamy’s arm and pushed him in the directions of his quarters. “Go to bed, Bellamy. You’re an annoying drunk.”

Bellamy grunted and shot Lexa a glare before stumbling off into the dark.

“Don’t touch my people,” Clarke seethed.

Lexa squared her shoulders and clenched her jaw in an intimidating staredown. “ _Your_ people?”

“Yes. _My_ people. I’m the ambassador for Skaikru and they are _my_ people.”

“I am _Heda_ and they are my subjects. You _all_ are. You would do well to remember that, Clarke kom Skaikru.” Her voice was lethal, but there was something else in her eyes. Something Clarke couldn’t quite decipher, but found it familiar none the less.

They stared at each other, both with heaving chests and flushed cheeks, not really knowing how to proceed. It had been a long time since they had been alone together, and the last time had been nothing like this. The last time had been soft touches and breathy moans, tender voices and lustful stares.

Clarke swallowed against the memory.

“What is your problem?” She finally asked, trying and failing to mask her sadness with anger.

“I don’t know what you mean, but I assure you I have no problems.” Lexa sheathed her sword and began to turn.

“Oh no you don’t–” Clarke grasped Lexa’s hand and yanked her back, hard.

Before she knew what was happening, there was a knife at her neck and two green eyes daring her to move. “Do _not_ grab me, Clarke.”

Clarke swallowed hard against the blade and flinched when it pressed in slightly before disappearing. When Lexa turned again, Clarke let her. But she called out. 

“How else am I supposed to get you to talk to me then, Lexa? You won’t talk to me!” Her voice cracked and she hated herself for it.

Lexa stopped and turned around. Her eyes were wide in surprise. She could hear the hurt in her former lover’s voice and see the pain in those blue eyes, and suddenly, she felt very stupid. She took a hesitant step towards Clarke and reached out to take her hand.

Clarke let her, and when their fingers intertwined, her eyes brimmed and she had to look away.

“Clarke–”

“Don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Lexa whispered, much in the same way she had done once in a situation similar to this in the not so distant past.

They stood silently for a moment, Lexa wanting to give an explanation and Clarke actively fending off the possibility of one. The commander read the sky girl’s body language clearly after having learned to do so adeptly. But she was determined. “Clarke–”

“You don’t have to explain, Lexa. I get it. This is your–”

The nip on Clarke’s bottom lip was hard, but not at all unpleasant. In fact, the moan that escaped her mouth was needy and unashamed. There was a hand on the back of her neck and Lexa’s warm breath washed over her face. Clarke wanted to melt.  

When Lexa was sure that Clarke was thoroughly silenced, she pulled away. “Let me talk, Clarke.” Her voice was husky and low.

Clarke conceded, nodding gently.

“I’m sorry that I have been…distant. But when you returned to Polis with your friends in tow… I thought you would want to have nothing to do with me–”

“I returned to Polis _to_ be with you, Lexa. How could you not know that?”

“ _Beja_ , Clarke,” Lexa groaned.

The ambassador sighed. “I’m sorry. Continue.”

Lexa brought her hand to Clarke’s hip and distractedly brushed her thumb over the small ridge of her hip bone. It was so thoughtless and so natural, the way they had once been with each other before. Always touching, or reaching out to be. “You brought your friends,” she began. “I thought that you felt you needed them because you weren’t comfortable here. You prefer your people. And I understand that.” Lexa’s voice was small and her eyes were downcast.

Clarke gently grabbed Lexa’s chin, drawing her attention back up to her face. “Lexa– you _are_ my people. But you stopped talking to me. You wouldn’t even look at me after I returned. The last time I held you, you were–” She choked back a swell of emotions that wanted to pour forth. She hadn’t spoken about Lexa being shot in a long time. It had been too painful. She had been forced to leave before knowing whether the love of her life would even make a full recovery. She only received word of her health weeks later when it came alongside a formal declaration of war after it became clear to the Coalition that Kane’s rebellion would never be able to quickly overthrow Pike.

Lexa pressed their foreheads together and nodded. “I know. I’m sorry. It was childish of me to assume your reasoning behind bringing your friends. And I welcome them, happily. They make you happy and I am glad for that. But… I was jealous. You are so good with your people. And they love you. They understand you like I cannot. I could…never compete with that.”

Clarke let out a soft chuckle which she immediately regretted when she felt Lexa tense. The commander thought she was laughing at her and began to pull away.

“No, no. Hey, stop. I’m not–I’m not laughing at you,” Clarke promised. She placed her hands on Lexa’s cheeks and cradled her there. “I just…I was also jealous. Of your people. You light up with them. You smile and laugh and…you used to do that with me.”

Lexa nodded. “I’m sorry, Clarke.”

“No more sorry’s. I just–I _missed_ you, Lexa. You have _no_ idea. I watched you die only to be saved right as I was being forced to leave. And then we were at war and every time I saw you in the tree line or at the helm of your army, all I wanted to do was run to you and hold you. I wanted you _so_ badly. I missed you so much it hurt. I still miss you. And I feel like a stranger here when you don’t talk to me.” Clarke couldn’t stop the tears now, and she didn’t want to remove her hands from Lexa’s waist to brush them away.

“I don’t want you to feel like a stranger here, Clarke.” Lexa brought a hand to Clarke’s face and wiped at the tears. “This is your home. We love that you are here.”

Clarke quirked her eyebrow and smirked.

“Ok, well _I_ love that you are here. And I’m Heda, so that’s all that counts,” Lexa said with a small chuckle. She brought both hands to Clarke’s hips and ever so slightly pulled the girl closer, all the while looking for permission. When Clarke didn’t resist, Lexa dipped her head and brushed their noses together. “May I?” She whispered. She hadn’t asked the first time, and a part of Lexa felt bad. She did not want Clarke to think that Lexa had used physical affection only to shut her up long enough to listen.

Clarke nodded and closed the gap herself.

When her name slipped out of Lexa’s mouth in a breathy moan, Clarke had to pull away. “Can we go to your room?” She asked just above a whisper.

“Sha, ai hodnes,” Lexa answered quickly.

With her friend’s antics just barely audible in the background, and the yells and laughter of the grounders in the tavern, Clarke let herself be pulled by Lexa up the hill to the tower.  The commander was nothing but a silhouette in the darkness, but her shape was so beautiful and familiar. With her hand clasped tightly in Lexa’s, Clarke knew that she was finally home. 


	4. Dinner Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Clarke Invites her mom to Polis for a private thank you dinner she's hosting in Lexa's chamber as a small token of appreciation to Lexa and her acceptance in the coalition. Abby invites Kane. What starts out to be a great idea soon turns to a dinner in which Abby just wants whats best for her daughter.

Abby felt as though she had been transported back hundreds of years when she received the message, black ink pressed into weathered, dried hide.

“If she thinks I’m just going to come at her beck and call–”

A chuckle and scruffy, black beard against her lips silenced her. When Kane pulled away, he had her face cradled in one of his large, calloused hands.

“She’s your daughter, Abby. You don’t have to like her decision to stay in Polis, but she’s your daughter. Don’t make this a decision your regret later on.”

Abby’s jaw worked tirelessly as she tried to hear the rationale in Marcus’s words. After a moment she sighed and shrugged away from his hand on her face. “I just–a formal invite? Is that really necessary?”

Marcus shrugged. He, unlike Abby, found the formalities of the grounder culture charming and nostalgic. “It’s a dinner with the commander. Of course it’s going to be formal.”

“Not _with_ , Marcus. _For_. We are being invited to a dinner _for_ the commander.”

“If my Trigadeslang is not a complete disaster, I believe it says _you_ have been invited. Not we.”

Abby threw up her arms, and paced around the medical bay. “That’s the other thing. Why use Trigadeslang? She knew it was coming to me. What point is she trying to prove? Is her moving to live there not good enough? She has to make it a point to rub it in as well?”

Marcus brought a hand to Abby’s arm, stilling the doctor in her tracks. “Abby,” he soothed, “she’s only trying to assimilate. You and I both know she wasn’t happy here. Be glad that she has found some peace.”

Abby softened. Of course she was glad that her daughter had found peace. Of course she was glad that she no longer had to wake up to the sounds of Clarke screaming from her nightmares across the hall. The amount of times she had seen her daughter without being covered in cuts and bruises combined with the number of times she had seen a smile on her face could be counted on one hand. It pained her deeply to know how much Clarke had suffered nonstop from the moment she crash landed on the ground with the other hundred.

But, as much as she may want to deny it, it hurt that Clarke had to leave to find her peace. It hurt that she left just weeks after Pike was assassinated and unity was restored to Arkadia. It hurt that just when she thought the world was giving her another chance to connect with her daughter, she departed early one morning and never returned.  They had their fleeting talks when Abby and other members of Skaikru visited Polis to trade, but Clarke made it very obvious that she was not interested, or maybe not ready, for any kind of in-depth relationships with her people. Her _former_ people.  Abby almost groaned in frustration.

Soft ministrations on her back brought her out of her thoughts and she was greeted by Kane’s warm, brown eyes. “You have to go, Abby,” he said quietly. “If not for Lexa, then for Clarke. Clearly this dinner means something to her.”

Abby nodded knowing that he was right and knowing that she could ignore the feeling in her chest that had lodged itself there the day Clarke left all she wanted, but it would never truly go away– she missed Clarke and she wanted to reconnect.

“Ok,” she relented, quietly. “But you’re coming with me. End of discussion.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke was almost in pain with the delicious way Lexa’s thigh felt between her legs. She burned and ached and her core throbbed so violently she thought that she might be close to passing out.  And when Lexa’s strong hands gripped her hips and took control of the rhythm, quickening it with lustful abandon, it was everything Clarke could do to stay present.

“Look at me, Clarke.” Lexa’s voice was heady and breathy, and it sent chills down Clarke’s spine. She moaned against it and Lexa’s green eyes flashed with something dangerous yet somehow tender. Something akin to undying devotion and utter desire.

Clarke shakily pulled herself out of the crook of Lexa’s neck to look at her, clenching her jaw at the wave of pleasure that shot through her lower stomach with the changing pressure of her movements.  Her arms shook and her shoulders burned as she rested herself on her forearms enough to give Lexa the eye contact that she wanted.

Trembling and aching, Clarke forced herself to stay focused on her lover’s beautiful, beautiful face, but she knew that she wouldn’t last much longer. With Lexa nipping and sucking at every swath of skin she could reach, Clarke held in her orgasm the way one might try to hold in sand with a net. She grasped at anything to stay here, present with Lexa, with those green eyes that looked at her and made her feel so safe and free and loved and–

“Oh _god_ –” she whimpered, the words choking in her throat when Lexa thrust up against her just a little harder, a little bit faster.

“Ai hodnes,” Lexa breathed, kissing at Clarke’s open lips, “Let go. Let go, my love.”

Clarke bit down onto her own lower lip and sucked in a sharp breath through her nose. She shook her head hard and swallowed thickly at the moans that wanted to spill forth. “Not _yet_ ,” she gasped. “Not _yet_ , not _ye_ –” her pleading caught in her throat when a wave of pleasure took her by surprise. She cried out against it and collapsed onto Lexa’s chest, her shaking arms unable to stand against the sudden rush of heat that coursed through her body.

Lexa wrapped her arms around Clarke’s bare back and wrapped around her tightly, letting the younger girl take charge of the rhythm so that she could hold her. She whispered to her and pressed gentle but earnest kisses wherever she could reach.

Clarke’s hips bucked sporadically as she tried to keep the sensation just at the brink without toppling over. They had _just_ started and Clarke would be damned if she let herself go to soon, ending this intoxicating moment minutes after it had begun.  Lexa had been gone two weeks to oversee the rebuild of a village that had burned down in a forest fire and Clarke had missed her with every part of being.

Since moving to Polis permanently after the end of the wars with Pike’s violent faction, rare was the day that Clarke and Lexa did not spend their evenings tangled together in a mess of sweat and moans and shuddering climaxes. There had even been an adjustment period for Clarke when, after so long without pleasure, she had to stop Lexa at one or two orgasms per night after getting too sensitive. She had been embarrassed about it at first, but when Lexa had held her and nodded quietly, worshiping her body with light kisses after she had handled all that she could each night, Clarke fell for the commander even further. She fell the furthest, hard and fast and hot, when her body finally adjusted and Lexa kept her up, writing and whimpering for the all night long, week after week.

And then she had left to oversee the rebuilding of a village on the outskirts of the city, to maintain morale and reassure her people.  Not a week into her absence and Clarke felt the loss like a shock to her body. She kept herself busy as often as she could, reading and drawing, arguing with Indra, sparring with Octavia, debating with Aden…and she could almost, almost ignore the dull throb between her legs that never seemed to go away.

Almost was short lived when a messenger came flying into Polis on a horse informing the capitol that their beloved Heda was just hours from arriving home. The buzz of excitement that ran through the town, the raising of the flags that signalled Heda’s impending return, the revived ferocity of the children’s sparring (in hopes that they would catch the approving eye of the commander on her return) sent Clarke stumbling to their bed, unable to keep from relieving the now swelling ache any longer.

Upon her return, Lexa found Clarke nestled in the furs of their bed, her head pressed into their pillows, eyes clenched, mouth wide, fingers buried deep inside of herself, pumping as the sound of Lexa’s name poured over her lips.

Lexa had to remind herself to be gentle when she all but jumped out of her clothes and rushed to her love.

And now, just minutes later, Clarke was cursing at the orgasm threatening to spill forth as she rode Lexa’s thigh. Pleading with her body to last just a little longer, she tried to control her breathing, slow her hips and focus on Lexa’s sweet nothings that were the only things keeping her tethered to the ground.

“You’re ok, hodnes,” Lexa breathed. “You’re so beautiful, and I missed you so much–”  

Clarke moaned and thrust her hips forward, wanting so desperately to take the relief her body was ready to give her. But she couldn’t Not yet. Not _yet._

“ _Let go_ , Niron,” Lexa cooed. “I’m here. We have time to go again, I’m not leaving” She assured her, knowing that Clarke always had an irrational fear of Lexa disappearing as soon as they were done making love. It was a fear rooted in trauma and experience, and Lexa had come to expect it and soothe it as best she could. With time, it had gotten better, but it always flared up again when the commander had to leave for prolonged amounts of time.

 

A loud knock at the door had Lexa jumping and Clarke yelping in pleasure when the commander’s thigh slammed up into her center.

“ _Ban_ _op_!” Lexa seethed, holding Clarke close to her chest.

“Heda–”

Lexa growled and sat up, still clutching Clarke.  It forced Clarke to shift, her eyes rolling back as she situated herself in Lexa’s lap, her sensitive center pressing into the commander’s rippling stomach.

“Indra! Bants, _nau_!”  

Clarke would have chuckled at the desperation in Lexa’s voice had she not been equally as desperate for the intruder to leave.

“Apologies, Heda. Skaikru don kom op. They wait in the throne room,” came Indra’s voice from outside the door.

Lexa’s head whipped around and her eyes flew to Clarke, searching for an explanation.  “Clarke–” her voice was thick and breathy. It made Clarke shutter and grip at Lexa’s strong back even harder.

“I’ll explain later,” she panted. “Just–please, don’t stop–”

“Your people are waiting–” Lexa’s voice was filled with annoyance and her hands were already beginning to separate herself from the trembling girl on top of her.

“Don’t–” Clarke gasped, gripping desperately at Lexa’s arms, keeping them where they were around her waist. “They can wait a little longer– _Lexa, beja_ –” 

Clarke’s eyes were wide and a shade darker than normal, but Lexa could tell from the way that Clarke tensed and her eyes turned glossy that it wasn’t from lust. Rather, it was the quiet fear that occasionally crept into those big, blue eyes when Clarke thought she might lose Lexa. Too many times their love making had been quickly followed up by a very real threat to Lexa’s life during the beginning of their relationship. The tumultuous chaos forced them to scrape together bits and pieces of time to touch and adore each other–pieces of time that were never long enough, and almost always pursued by the ever hungry Death of wartime.

“Lexa–” Clarke’s voice was small and desperate, and the more time passed, the more that quiet fear slipped from her eyes and into her voice.

The urge to soothe and protect her traumatized lover ripped through Lexa’s body and she pulled Clarke tightly to her, one hand brushing up through Clarke’s hair, the other snaking it’s way under the girl. She began to gently roll Clarke’s hips into her, pressing her stomach harder against the sparking bundle of nerves there.

“I’m here, my love,” she said into the crook of Clarke’s neck. “We don’t have much time,” she pressed a trail of kisses along her jaw, “I need you to let go for me.”

Clarke nodded and gripped at Lexa’s back, letting Lexa dictate their speed. She held on desperately, sputtering and moaning and gasping as Lexa rocked harder and faster. The commander worshiped Clarke’s neck with her lips and whispered how beautiful she was until Clarke wanted to cry from how painfully sweet and tender her ferocious warrior really was.

“I’m close,” she whimpered, shaking and twitching until finally she was arching and gasping, clawing at Lexa’s back in an attempt to get her closer, closer, _closer_ , and Lexa was burying her head into Clarke’s soft chest, kissing and nipping and–

When Clarke came, it was with Lexa’s name dancing on her lips in a long, whimpering sigh.  Lexa felt more pride and joy in that sound than in any battle or political triumph. Clarke was hers, safe and warm and thrumming with life under her fingertips. To hear that sound, feel the way Clarke clutched at her and pressed sloppy kisses to her mouth in between the convulsions of her orgasm made Lexa dizzy and proud and so _fucking_ grateful.

 

* * *

 

The throne room was painfully awkward. Kane and Abby stood shoulder to shoulder under the hard, but unreadable eyes of the commander’s guards. Indra stood in front of them, arms clasped behind her back, as she and Kane made small talk about Arkadia and Polis’ respective developments.

“The lime helped with the soil,” Marcus offered, kindly.

He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw a small smile play at the corners of the stoic warrior’s lips. They had been friends once…or something close to it…but being shot in your sleep does a lot to shatter trust, and even Kane was still paying for it with Indra’s aloofness.

“I’m glad,” she replied, cooly. “It has always helped Trikru when the acid fog poisoned the soil.”

Marcus hummed. He turned to Abby, “It’s alkaline…helps raise the PH.”

Abby cocked her brow at him with a dangerous smirk. “Yes, I’m aware of how lime works, Marcus, thank you. I did study chemistry for seven years.”

The Skaikru co-chancellor chuckled and nodded. “Forgive me, Abby. Of course.”

Abby turned to Indra and tried to hide her annoyance. She certainly could not ignore the charm that the grounder capital had, warm and full of ancient culture unlike the cold, sterile life of Arkadia. But the throne room made her exceedingly uncomfortable.

“Do you know when they will be ready?” She asked, her tone even from months of practice.

“The commander will come when she comes” Indra retorted, fully aware that it was full of non-answers.

Before Abby could fire back, their voices wafted down the hallways and into the throne room. Their words could not be understood, but it was clear to everyone involved that Clarke and Lexa were nearby, bickering endlessly.

 

* * *

 

“It’s just dinner,” Clarke argued, tugging on her pants.  “Here,” she called, holding out the shirt that Lexa was angrily looking around for.

“Clarke,” Lexa took the shirt and threw it on, “this is not about dinner. This is about you surprising me with a visit from Skaikru on the night of my return. I haven’t prepared for this!”

Clarked rolled her eyes and grabbed the commander’s hips. She pulled her close and Lexa stumbled forward. “It’s not _Skaikru_ , Lexa. It’s my mom.”

“And Kane.”

Clarke smiled at the creases of worry that began to surface on Lexa’s forehead. She was beginning to see what this was really about. She slipped her hands under Lexa’s shirt and settled on the warm skin of her hipbones, rubbing gently. “Yes, and Kane. He wanted to come.”

“He wants to monitor me,” Lexa snapped.

Clarke let out a breathy chuckled and shook her head. “You’re _nervous_.”

“I’m _tired_.”

“Lexa–”

Lexa pulled away from Clarke and grabbed her shoulder guard off the table on which she had thrown it earlier.

Clarke sighed. “Don’t put that on, baby, please. Just be Lexa tonight.”

Lexa snapped the guard into place and began braiding her hair. “I am never Lexa in front of the leaders of the Coalition’s clans, Clarke. You know this.”

“They’re not leaders tonight, Lexa! They’re–they’re my mom and her… _friend_. And I asked them here to have dinner with us so that they could see and appreciate you as the kind, loving woman that you are. And they have yet to properly thank you for allowing Skaikru back into the coalition, and frankly, I want to hear them grovel, just a little bit.”

Lexa’s lip twitched at the hint of the feisty Wanheda that peeked up through Clarke’s calm, cool demeanor every now and again when she was feeling particularly passionate about something.

Clarke swayed over to Lexa, her hips purposefully swishing in a way that she knew had Lexa captivated by the way those green eyes glinted and that full bottom lip pulled into her mouth beneath her teeth.

“Just do this for me for one night. That’s all I’m asking. Have dinner with my mom and her boyfriend. Don’t think of them as Skaikru chancellors. Ok? Please.”

Lexa let her forehead fall to Clarke’s and took an overtly long inhale and exhale. Clarke chuckled at her antics.

“Fine,” she hissed and followed it up with a hard kiss that attempted to wipe the smirk off Clarke’s lip but only succeeded in making it bigger.

 

* * *

 

If the throne room was awkward before, it was nothing compared to now as the four of them stood together in the silent aftermath of Lexa sending Indra and the guards away.

Lexa cleared her throat and held out her arm. “Kane,” she greeted, and the man happily returned the action.

“Commander,” he clasped forearms with Lexa and beamed. He was open and trusting and so very light in comparison to the rest of the situation that Clarke could have almost hugged him for it as she watched on by Lexa’s side.

Instead she turned towards her mother and offered a small smile. “Mom,” she offered her arm, but Abby scoffed and pulled her into a tight embrace.

It was awkward at first with Clarke’s arms trapped by her side, but Abby quickly pulled back and held her there, looking at her closely. “How are you?”

Clarke nodded and cleared her throat ever so slightly. “I’m good. Really good. And you?”

Abby just smiled and continued to look at her daughter’s face, as if committing every curve to memory. It made Clarke’s heart twinge knowing that her absence hurt her mother. But she knew it was what was best for them all. Clarke was broken in Arkadia with Bellamy and Jasper and even Raven who still eyed her with quiet blame for Finn’s death.  Her damage manifested in angry words and constant fights, endless tears and terrorizing nightmares. The morning she had left Arkadia and showed up at the gates of Polis, tired, hungry and unannounced to find Lexa’s soft and knowing face waiting for her, Clarke knew that she had made the right decision. She knew that she was free to be a better person for her loved ones, even if that meant hurting them a little while as they all adjusted.

“Please–” Lexa’s voice cut through the moment and they turned to see Lexa holding out her arm in a gesture for them to move out of the throne room. Abby moved first with Kane by her side while Lexa and Clarke followed behind. The commander placed her hand in the small of Clarke’s back as if sensing that her touch was needed to help sooth the storm of thoughts swirling around in the sky girl’s head at that moment.

Clarke smiled softly to herself at the gesture, ever amazed at the attentiveness and understanding of Lexa’s interaction with her. She felt a nervous excitement bubble low in her stomach when the party passed through Lexa’s chambers and onto the large balcony attached. There was a small table, big enough for the four of them to sit comfortably without being on top of each other, but it was still small and intimate. It was already stocked with lid-covered dishes of food and silver glasses of chilled water.

Lexa had assumed that she would need to make all kinds of last minute arrangements to have dinner prepared for more than just herself and Clarke, but she was hardly surprised when she realized that it was only she who had been in the dark about the arranged dinner. When the hand maidens approached her nervously outside her door to ask for final permission to put the food out on her personal dining table, she shot a glare at Clarke before relenting and sending the handmaiden’s on their way.

 _“They listen to you as if you’re their Heda,”_ Lexa had said in an amused tone as they walked down the hallway to collect Abby and Kane from the throne room.

 _“Well…I’m sleeping with their Heda. That’s gotta count for something.”_ Clarke had replied, earning her an eye roll and soft chuckle.

 

 

Dinner started out easily. Kane carried much of the conversation, asking Lexa questions here and there, smiling and nodding when Lexa indulged him in long, thorough answers.

Abby had been right all those months ago. Kane was made for this and she could feel herself relaxing by the second as he spoke confidently and easily.  And in this setting, the commander was almost pleasant…easy company that was polite and attentive and dare she say, friendly.   Or perhaps that was just a reflection of Kane who talked with his hands and spoke with his heart. She watched him in admiration, unable to keep the small smile on her lips. There had been times when she had so desperately wanted to give up. Times when she thought her death and the death of her people were seconds away and she just wanted to closer her eyes and be back in space. Marcus had been there to pick her up every time, and she lo–

The realization slammed hard against her chest when she looked away from Marcus and across the table at Clarke. She _knew_ that look. She knew that small smile and slight head tilt. Her daughter was looking up at Lexa as she talked as if she held the moon and stars in one hand and the knowledge of the universe in the other. Looking at her with utter peace and contentment on her face. Looking at Lexa the way she looked at Marcus. Clarke was looking at Lexa…with _love_.

Abby choked on the piece of food she had been chewing on when it all hit her. She coughed and shook her head, waving away the sudden flurry of worried hands and questions of her wellbeing.

“I’m fine,” she squeezed out. “Fine.”

“Mom?”

Abby couldn’t bring herself to look up at her daughter in that moment. “I’m fine, Clarke. Just went down the wrong way.”

Clarke could tell that something had shifted. It was palpable in the air as it shot back and forth between the four of them. The way Kane’s eyes were wide in confusion as he looked at Abby, the way Abby actively avoided looking at Clarke, and the way Lexa shifted uncomfortably made it clear that something had happened. It made Clarke’s heart rate quicken painfully in her chest.

Suddenly, Lexa pushed back her chair and stood. “Excuse me,” she said, turning to leave.

“Lexa?” Clarke’s voice was as panicked as her eyes and she all but reached out for the commander in an effort to keep her there.

Lexa gave her shoulder a brief and gentle squeeze of reassurance. “I have to use the restroom, Niron. I’ll be right back.”

Clarke looked at her for a second, slightly stunned that she had used a pet name in front of her mother and Kane, and slightly terrified at the prospect of Lexa leaving, even if just for a minute or two.

Lexa gave her shoulder another parting squeeze and walked swiftly back inside. The fact of the matter was, that Lexa knew exactly what had happened. She knew that she was being watched, but it wasn’t Kane as she had originally thought. Of course it was Abby, Clarke’s mother, who would be watching her, trying to ascertain what it was that was keeping her daughter in Polis.

Lexa nearly growled at having allowed herself to be put in a position of judgement. She could see it clearly on the doctor’s face the moment Abby slammed into the realization that she and her daughter were _together._ And Abby’s reaction had made it all too clear to her how the older woman felt about it.  Lexa was damn sure she was not about to cause Clarke any unnecessary pain by allowing her continued presence to instigate a fight while Abby wrestled with the new information.

The fact of the matter was that Lexa had been reading people all of her life and she knew what Abby needed. She had been reading Abby particularly closely for the past several months, because her life had quite often depended on it. So in that moment, she decided to be the bigger person. She excused herself knowing that Abby needed some with her daughter and that Clarke needed her not to be there, because if she had stayed–

Anger flared up in her chest again at the thought of Abby’s judgement of their love. And she knew that Clarke was aware that something had happened. She could see it in those blue eyes–the confusion and fear that she was about to be placed in the middle of another war between the people that she loved. It’s why she removed herself from the situation as quickly as possible. It’s why she had used the pet name. She figured that Marcus was fluent enough in Trigedaslang to know what it meant, but in that moment she didn’t care. In that moment, with Clarke’s nervous eyes looking up at her, she knew that her Niron needed to be reassured more than Lexa needed to be covert.

 

 

Clarke watched Lexa go with panic rising in her chest. She didn’t know what had happened, but she could feel the tension piercing the space between she and her mother and it made her nauseous. Clarke had spent so much time healing and being at peace in Polis that this unfamiliar stress was quickly reeking havoc on her nervous system.

“Mom–”

Abby’s eyes finally raised to her daughter and there was a fire behind them that made Clarke both scared and angry. She could feel her old defense mechanisms of harsh words and imposing threats rising liked acidic bile in the back of her throat.

“Are you _sleeping_ with her?” Abby hissed.

“Abby–”

“No, Marcus! This is between my daughter and I!”

Clarke kicked out of her chair and stood, looming over her mother and Kane who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there.

“I’m not doing this with you,” Clarke iced as she turned to leave.

Abby stood and blocked the doorway with her arms crossed, eyes hard. “Yes, you are. You owe me.”

Clarke let out a bitter and incredulous laugh. “Are you serious? I _owe_ you nothing.”

“Clarke,” Abby’s voice was hard and yet somehow pleading. It was all over her face too–a desire to be strong mixing with a desperation to understand. “I deserve to know why you left!”

Clarke shook her head angrily and willed against the tears that were already beginning to tease at her eyelashes. “You _know_ why.”

Abby reached out for Clarke who recoiled, violently. “No, I _don’t,_ Clarke. I _don’t_ know why. Why is it that you can be happy here and but not back with your own people?!”

“She _is_ my people!” Clarke yelled, surprising herself with the force of the exclamation. She blinked and couldn’t hold back the small stream of tears that cascaded down. “She is my people,” she repeated quietly.

Abby shook her head, saddened. “I don’t understand.”

Clarke sighed and wiped at her face before running a hand through her hair. “I–I can’t stop seeing them when I’m there. I can’t–I can’t sleep, or eat, or walk around there without feeling every single death that I caused for _my people_.” She sniffed and breathed shakily. “You don’t know what it’s like. You don’t _know_ what it’s like to look at Bellamy and Raven and Jasper and remember what they were like when we first came down! You don’t have to remember their smiles and their jokes and their beauty and then look around and see that you destroyed that.”

“Clarke–”

“No! Don’t. I know what you’re going to say. I know that we all made hard decisions, but _I_ led them. _I_ kept them fed and alive and _I killed_ three hundred people before your feet even hit the ground. And then you–y-you you just dropped out of the sky and expected me to play by _your_ rules and _your_ laws, but you still forced me to be in charge and it made me an enemy to everyone!”

Clarke choked back a sob and hugged herself tightly. “No one wanted me, Mom! Arkadia hated me, Bellamy hated me, Pike wanted me dead. The grounders didn’t trust me and Titus wanted me banished! I had _no one_.”

“You had _me_ , Clarke!” Abby lurched forward and pulled her daughter into her chest. “You had _me_.”

Clarke shook against Abby and let herself be held until she could calm her breathing enough to pull away. “My presence put you in danger while Pike was in charge,” she said quietly. “I had your love, and you had mine…but, I didn’t have _you_.” Clarke wiped at her eyes and cleared her throat.  “I had _her._ I had _Lexa_. And she let me heal. She let me stop the killing and she let me _breathe_ for once”

Abby’s eyes softened and she nodded. “Ok,” she said, quietly.

“Ok?”

Abby took Clarke’s hands in hers and squeezed. “Ok. I understand.”

Clarke let out a small, sad smile. “I love her.”

Abby brought her hand up to Clarke’s cheek and swiped at the tears that remained there. “I know, baby.” She returned the small smile.

“And you’re ok with that?”

She sighed. Her daughter was happy. She would by lying if she said that she didn’t harbor some worries when it came to Lexa. But her daughter was finally healing and at peace and she knew that she had the commander to thank for that, so yes–

“I’m more than ok with that, Clarke. I just want you to be happy. I want what’s best for you. I always have.”

“She makes me happy,” Clarke whispered. “She makes it all hurt less.”

Abby nodded. “Ok, baby,” she soothed. “Ok.”

 

When Lexa returned she was slightly surprised to see Clarke wrapped up in her mother’s arm. She had hoped that this would be the outcome, but with the fury in Abby’s eyes when she left, should couldn’t have been sure. The scene calmed her, though. She looked at Abby with renewed respect. The gaze was returned when the doctor looked up and met her eyes.

By the end of it all, no one was hungry. Lexa had the handmaidens clean up while she showed Abby and Kane to their room for the night. She insisted it was much too late for them to try to return to Arkadia at that point and assured them that their presence overnight would be no trouble.  

She was turning to leave when Abby stopped her from the doorway.The doctor swallowed, admittedly nervous at the way Lexa’s eyes bored into her with severity, but no malice. She was an intimidating figure, someone that Abby would never quite get used to. But she could try.

“Thank you,” she said simply.

When Lexa looked at her confused, the doctor let a small smile play at the corner of her mouth.

“Thank you for taking care of Clarke.”

Lexa raised her chin, blinking, her typical show of trying to mask her emotions. Her throat visibly worked over a big knot and she nodded, once.

Abby turned to retreat into the room when she stopped and added something, unable to keep her mothering instincts from doing so. “Please, be careful with her.”

Lexa smiled and Abby was immediately thrown. It was a soft, sweet smile. Gentle in a way that Abby had never believed Lexa capable of.

“I will, Abby.” Lexa’s voice was low and full of a sincere promise that Clarke’s mother found immediate trust in.

“Good night, Commander.”

Lexa bowed her head. “Reshop, Chancellor. May you sleep well.”

 

* * *

 

Clarke found some way to be near Lexa at all times for the rest of the night. This was one of her favorite things–watching Lexa walk through the hushed night time of their home, arranging tomorrow’s plans with the fleimkepa, reviewing a province on a map with Indra for an upcoming hunt, chuckling softly with Nyko as he replenished the supply of medicine she kept in her room per Clarke’s orders (the last time they had to go in search of medicine had almost cost Lexa her life as she bled out on her bed).

In these moments, Lexa was soft and unbelievably kind, but she commanded whatever space she was in and exuded a powerful confidence. It was a mix that Clarke always found intoxicating.

By the time they made it to bed, Clarke ached with fatigue and stale tears. She curled into the smooth warmth of Lexa’s side as soon as they hit the firs and immediately felt her body begin to relax. Lexa absentmindedly stroked at her back and showered her hairline in small kisses.

“Are you ok, hodnes?” She asked, quietly.

Clarke hummed and nodded, bringing her hand up to rest at the base of Lexa’s neck. She rubbed her thumb over the sharp ridge of collarbone there and breathed. “I love you, Lexa,” she murmured sleepily.

She could feel the commander smile in the way that her heart beat quickened underneath her head.

“I love you too, Clarke,” came Lexa’s low voice a beat later. “You will always be my weakness, and in that, my strength.”  

Clarke raised her chin and pressed a long, languid kiss to Lexa’s mouth. It wasn’t lustful, but it was deep and intimate and so very much what Clarke needed. It sucked the air from her lungs in the most exquisitely burning way and she slowly felt herself falling further and further into Lexa, burrowing down into her soul and staking her claim.

When she pulled away, breathless, she smiled. “Reshop, Heda.”

Lexa returned the smile at the fond memory. “Goodnight, Ambassador.”  

 

* * *

 

 

**Translations:**

_“Ai hodnes” - “My love”  
_

_“Hodnes” - “Love”  
_

_“Niron” - “Beloved/Lover”  
_

_“Ban op!” - “Leave!”  
_

_“Bants nau!” - “Leave now!”  
_

_“Skaikru don kom op”- “Skaikru has arrived.”  
_

_“Reshop.” - “Goodnight.”_


	5. Baby?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Clarke calling Lexa "Baby" and Lexa not understanding and saying she's not a baby. (Lol I thought of this and thought it was so hilarious I had to send it in as a prompt.)

“Oh my _god_ , _Lexa_ ,” Clarke moaned against Lexa’s lips, her fingers curling into the smooth skin of Lexa’s back. She loved the way those strong muscles rolled and jumped with the thrusting motion of her arm.

Lexa could only smile at the way Clarke insisted on attempting to keep their lips attached even as she moaned and sighed and ushered a string of whispered expletives. She loved those sounds and wasn’t about to stop her lover from letting all those delicious noises spill over onto her own lips. It’s one of the few things that made letting Clarke be on top just a little easier.

She drew the line at nipping, though. 

When Clarke’s teeth came down hard on her lower lip, she couldn’t contain the growl that rose through her. Clarke felt it resonate down her throat straight to that the swollen bundle of nerves she was already playing with relentlessly and her  _“fuck”_  was lost somewhere on the back of her tongue when suddenly she was flipping and Lexa was on top of her, all glinting green eyes and flushed cheeks, sweaty skin and tense muscles. 

With Clarke now underneath her, hips rolling upwards trying to restart the hand that had stilled after the flip, Lexa’s eyes flashed with something wild and carnal. It was a look Clarke had seen the first time they were together and nearly choked on it. She wondered if it was a grounder thing, remembering the way Octavia had gushed about Lincoln and his… _abilities…_ that were _“out of this world”_ to quote the younger Blake. 

Perhaps it had to do with their strength or their free spirits. Perhaps it had to do with their connection to the earth or their rugged lifestyle. All she knew was that it started with a look, t _his_ look, and meant that her body was in for a long, pleasurable night. 

Clarke almost gulped as she stared up at those green eyes and saw it. “Lex–” it came out breathy, and needy, her hands ghosting up and down Lexa’s ribs. It took almost everything in her to keep from clamping down and pulling the girl close, but she could tell by the way Lexa’s hand defied her rolling hips that Lexa wasn’t going to do anything not of her own accord. 

 _“Please,”_ she added. Her body was still burning and tingling from when she had been on top and there was nothing she wouldn’t do to sooth it it again. 

Lexa slowly dragged her finger up Clarke’s wet folds, relishing the way Clarke immediately reacted, pressing down on her hand and throwing her head back into the pillow with a loud drawn out moan. She knew that she was good at pleasuring Clarke, had an affinity for observation and an attentiveness that had her quickly aware and in control of all of Clarke’s wants and needs from the very beginning. But it did’t hurt that Clarke was very vocal and encouraging in her pleasure.

Watching Clarke’s face closely, she rubbed circles into her clit, alternating speeds until she found one that registered as particularly pleasing. Settling on that rhythm, she smiled when Clarke drew her lip between her teeth and let out a shuttering exhale through her nose. It was one of the girl’s many tells and Lexa found it intoxicating. 

“Clarke,” Lexa called, her voice soft and low. 

Clarke licked her lips and let her eyes flutter open. She smiled and raised her chin for a kiss that Lexa eagerly met. One of them hummed, or maybe they both did, but it didn’t matter. The vibration felt good in their chests and while Lexa pressed down a little more firmly onto that swollen bundle of nerves, Clarke shuttered and gripped tightly to her girlfriend. 

“ _Baby,”_ she gasped. 

Lexa’s hand  abruptly stilled and she cocked her head in confusion.

Clarke whimpered at the loss, but rolled her hips forward and hummed when her clit hit Lexa’s still hand. When she received only more stillness in response, her eyes snapped open and her hand flew to Lexa’s where she desperately clawed at it, silently begging her to keep going. 

Lexa could only chuckle as she propped herself up on her elbow to get a better look at her lover. “Baby?” 

The blonde could have laughed at the absolutely befuddled look on her girlfriend’s face if it weren’t for the throbbing between her legs. “It’s–it’s a term of endearment. Like niron, or hodnes, you know–” she panted out, trying to hold onto the the delicious build in her core that they had finally begun to work towards after an excruciating amount of teasing. 

Lexa shook her head. “But niron and hodnes speak of my love for you. Baby…is–is an _age_. It’s a stage of life…not a feeling.” 

Clarke sighed and shifted underneath her. “It’s just a thing, Lexa.” 

“A sky person’s thing? Like…’float’?” Lexa asked, genuinely curious. 

This time, Clarke did laugh. She pulled the commander towards her and pressed small, adoring kisses into her jaw. “Yeah, exactly.” 

Lexa nodded slowly, pondering. “Strange,” she muttered.

“Your people don’t infantilize their lovers as a way of making them soft and cute?” Clarke asked, her voice sarcastic, though she wasn’t sure Lexa would catch it anyways. 

“We don’t _infantilize_ anyone. Except for, perhaps, infants. But even then…our goufa are strong and intelligent. We prefer to focus and pride them on _that_ rather than the innate weakness their age and size gives them in the first part of their life.” 

Clarke couldn’t help but be amused. Her girlfriend was knuckle deep inside of her, her thumb resting _deliciously_  on top of her clit and still, there she was, waxing poetic on her people’s culture and way of life. 

“Lexa,” Clarke chuckled and pressed a kiss to the full lips of Lexa’s pondering face, “I’d be happy to talk about this with you later,” she kissed her again, “but right now,” another kiss, “I really need you to finish me off or, “ a slightly harder, longer kiss that had Lexa’s heart rate picking up, “you’re going to be in the dog house.” 

Lexa was smiling into the kiss when she suddenly pulled away, her brow furrowed.  “The dog house?” 

Clarke collapsed back onto the pillow and slammed her hand to her forehead. “Oh my fucking god, _forget_ it.” She shoved Lexa off of her and crawled out of the furs.

“Where are you going?” Lexa was simultaneously confused, worried and amused. 

“To my old room,” Clarke snapped. 

“But you didn’t finish.” 

“Yah,” Clarke nearly groaned, “ I _know_.” 

“Then where are you going?” Lexa asked, rising slowly, her long legs unfolding from beneath her. 

Clarke licked her lips at the expanse of smooth, shiny skin stretched over those long, powerful legs, momentarily distracted from her annoyance. She shook her head and backed away from Lexa who was prowling towards her at a teasingly slow rate. 

“I’m _going_ togo finish _myself.”_

And there was that look. Lexa cocked her brow dangerously and bored into her with those dark, wild green eyes. “Is that so?” 

Clarke breathed heavily, that ache in her legs now renewed and throbbing violently. She tried to nod confidently, but with Lexa towering over her, the back of her hand grazing slowly up Clarke’s thigh, she was nothing but confident. 

“I don’t think so.” Lexa said when Clarke didn’t reply.

“No?” Clarke asked, just above a whisper. 

Lexa shook her head and wrapped an arm around Clarke’s bare waist, drawing her in so that their bodies were pressed together tightly. “Let me finish you,” she whispered dangerously, “ _baby,_ ” she added with a smug smirk. 


	6. Fix It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Clexa fix-it for after the love scene in 3x07. Clarke decides to stay, and Lexa survives the bullet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this…not great. It was very tall order to fill and one that I do not take likely. That being said, I knew going into it that a one shot would never do it justice. I have had plans every since the airing of 3x07 to do a multi-chap “fix it” project, but haven’t had the time yet. So, take this as you may. It certainly is not my strongest work but it was important and meaning to me to try to attempt at an initial something. I will never be able to repair the pain and trauma that occurred with the way Lexa’s character and death was handled, but I hope this promise for hope is at least a little soothing. Thank you for this prompt. It means a lot to me that you would entrust this story with me!

Titus wouldn’t stop talking. He wouldn’t fucking stop talking and Clarke just needed to think. She just needed some answers, but she was crying and shaking and pressing her hands into Lexa’s stomach trying to remember what her mother had briefly taught her about gunshot wounds on the Ark, and Titus was talking and Lexa was whimpering and her heart was pounding so hard against her chest and the blood was rushing in her ears so loud that she thought she was going to be consumed by it all at any moment--

“Don’t touch her!” Clarke growled as Titus moved towards the bleeding commander. “Don’t!”  She turned to Lexa and tried to calm her voice. “Hold on, Heda. Just hold on.”

“Clarke, please,” came Titus’ cold voice, “this needs to be done. Let her go.”

Clarke looked at the bald man with disgust and disbelief. “I won’t! I’m going to fix this! Help me fix this!” She pleaded, beginning to panic once again when she turned back to Lexa and found her beginning to convulse against the blood Clarke knew was undoubtedly beginning to fill the her lungs.

“I have to stop this bleeding! She’s bleeding to much, I--I need--” She wracked her brain trying desperately to think of a way to stop the bleeding.  Her tears renewed when she thought of her mother and the Ark’s medical bay and how easy this would all be if she just had--

Her eyes widened in realization. “I’ll cauterize it! Yes! Go get the brand from the throne room!”

When Titus didn’t move she felt the anger surge through her, painfully sparking under her skin as if it were trying to rip through her and attack the defiant fleimkepa. She looked behind him at Murphy who was standing there bewildered.

“Murphy, please. Run to the throne room. It’s down the hall and to the right. There’s a fireplace and an iron brand that sits in it. Grab it and bring it back here!”  

The beaten skaikru exile looked at her like she was insane if she thought he was going to go running through the halls of Polis with the commander’s guards stationed every few feet. He needn’t have said any of that, though, Clarke read it clearly in his hesitant body language. She rolled her eyes and beckoned him over. “For fuck’s sake,” she heaved under her breath. “Ok, then come here. Come on, put pressure right here and don’t move. Don’t let her move either,” she said, guiding Murphy’s hands to Lexa’s stomach.

“Clarke--” Lexa’s voice was small and thin, trembling in pain or fear or exhaustion, Clarke didn’t know.

“Shh, hold on. Just hold on,” she assured, running her hand over the top of Lexa’s head. She brought her hands to Murphy’s and pressed on them. “Press hard, and don’t ease up no matter what, ok?”

Murphy nodded quickly and swallowed nervously.

Clarke turned to Titus with violence in her eyes. “I swear to everything you hold holy if you do anything to hurt her or remove Murphy, I will end you.” She didn’t wait for a reply before she sprinted away and towards the throne room.  

 

 

It took mere seconds, but she could tell something was wrong as soon as she re-entered the room. Titus was pacing menacingly behind Murphy and the boy was looking around frantically.

“What? What happened?” Clarke ran to Lexa’s find to see her eyes closed and still. Too still.

“I-- I don’t know what happened. I don’t--she just--” Murphy stuttered.

“Ok, ok, just move. Go--go grab that bottle! You see it? Yeah, that one. Bring it here!”  Murphy ran over with a bottle and thrust it into Clarke’s outstretched hand. She ripped open Lexa’s shirt, her tears renewed at the site of the spewing black blood. “Fuck,” she gasped. “No, no, no. C’mon Lexa!”

Lexa’s eyes fluttered and a small sigh escaped her lips letting Clarke know that she was still there. She was slipping, but she was still there. It was all the encouragement Clarke needed. She poured the bottle over her hands and then Lexa’s stomach, earning a whimper from the commander’s parted lips.

“Hey, you’re ok. You’re ok. Titus, give me your scalpel.” She held out her hand behind her but when she didn’t receive anything she turned around. The fleimkepa looked at her with daggers in his eyes as he held the knife in a firm grasp.

“Titus!”

It was Murphy who acted. In a flash suddenly the two were on the ground, wrestling and grunting until the younger man dealt a well placed punch across Titus’ jaw. He yanked the scalpel out of the bald man’s hand and threw it to Clarke who just barely managed to catch it before it went flying across the room.

Her hands were shaking as she brought it down to the blood stained stomach. “I have to extract the bullet,” she said, trying to find comfort in mimicking the way her mother talked through her procedures. She tried to ignore the rustling behind her as she sliced through the thick skin and scooped out the crunched metal there. There was a rush of blood and Lexa gasped, her body shaking so violently that no matter how hard Clarke tried to still her own hands, there was still too much motion.

“Murphy!” She sobbed. “Murphy, I need your help!”

Murphy was by her side in seconds. She didn’t waste a glance back to see where Titus was but she could hear him pulling himself to his feet behind her.

“What do you need?”

“I need you to hold her still. I have to find the artery that’s bleeding. “Try not to faint.” She wasn’t trying to be funny, but when Murphy chuckled under his breath, she felt herself relax ever so slightly. It was enough to still her hands and renew her confidence.

Cutting an incision above the entry wound, she was immediately doused in Lexa’s jet black blood. The artery was leaking and fast. “Pour that alcohol on your hands!”

“What?” Murphy looked at her stunned.

“I need you to hold this open! Pour that on your hands!”

Murphy did as he was told and let Clarke position his thumb and index finger inside Lexa like a dilator. “Hold that open. She’s going to squirm when I do this--”

“Do what exactly?” Murphy asked nervously.

Clarke didn’t answer. She picked up the red hot iron rod and sanitized it with the remaining alcohol.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered as she plunged the edge of the circular symbol into the incision and against the perforated artery.

Lexa didn’t writhe like she thought she would, but she cried out with her eyes still closed and breathing still labored.

“You’re ok. You’re ok,” Clarke soothed. She held the brand there, counting to three, before slowly withdrawing it.  When there was no more blood, she heaved a sigh of relief enveloped in a choked sob as she cradled Lexa’s head in her hands. “Lexa...Lexa open your eyes.”

She could see the commander trying to, twitching and fluttering, but it was too much. A tiny groan tumbled out of her mouth, but nothing more.

“Ok, it’s ok. It’s ok, save your energy. Can you squeeze my hand?” She placed her hand in Lexa’s and smiled at the hint of a squeeze. “Good, just keep squeezing as long as you can hear my voice, ok?”

She turned to Titus. “She can make it, Titus. She can live, I just need your help. As long as she’s alive, she’s the commander. You owe it to her to help her. It’s your duty!”

The warring emotions in Titus’ dark eyes was evident as he looked back and forth between his Heda and Clarke.

“Please.”

The fleimkepa nodded once and took a step forward. “What do you need?”

“Find Octavia. Or anyone. Send for my mom and bring her back here immediately.”

“The blockade will not allow any skypersons out of Arkadia. They will be killed immediately.”

Clarke groaned. “Screw the blockade! Lexa needs my mom! You have to figure it out, Titus!”

“But Wanheda--”

“Figure it out!” She yelled and felt a quick squeeze on her hand. She turned back to Lexa and brushed her free hand over her forehead. “Hang on, Lexa. Hang on.”

 

 

She heard bits and pieces of the rushed explanation from her mother’s mouth--something about a distraction, sneaking out and running on foot to the tree line until hopping on a horse. It had been hours and miraculously, Lexa was still squeezing her hand when she asked her too. She was relying on that lifeline just as much as Lexa was, so when her mother forced her out of the room, she thought that it might actually kill her.

With her back pressed against the closed door, she could hear Abby and Nyko conversing, giving and taking orders back and forth. It was then that she realized truly how hard she was shaking. She was rattling the rusted door hinges with every inhale and exhale, but nothing she did could bring her peace. She tried to breathe deeply, but it only hurt her chest. She tried to think of something happy the way her mother had taught her as a child after a nightmare on the Ark, but that made her scoff at herself bitterly. She was not a child and this was not a nightmare she could wake up from.

Surprisingly, it was Titus’s sudden presence that gave her the moment of distraction she needed most to calm her system.

“How is she?” He asked evenly. He showed no overt emotion, but Clarke could see in his eyes that he was concerned.

“I haven’t heard anything.”

He nodded once and turned to leave.

“Titus--”

The fleimkepa stopped and waited as Clarke rose to her feet and took a step closer to him, entering into his space challengingly.

“If she makes it...I’m not going anywhere. And you have to accept that.”  She crossed her arms and raised her chin, prepared for a fight.

It didn’t come, however. Not exactly.

“You will get her killed,” he said, still infuriatingly calm.

“I’m not the one who shot her,” she spat. “Your hatred for me is what’s going to get her killed! Can’t you see how important what she’s doing is? Can you not see how good this is for your people?”

“Blood much have blood has always been our way, Clarke. Anything else will--”

Clarke held up her hand and was silently shocked to see that it worked. “If I hear that one more time--” she exhaled slowly, trying to calm her desire to lunch out and strangle the man. “Look, this...this isn’t just about my people anymore. This is about all of our people. We survived a nuclear apocalypse, have been surviving for hundreds of years after and you’re going to stand here and tell me that you’re ok with the prospect of everyone dying in a matter of months because of tradition?”

“Clarke, you don’t understand.”

“You’re right, I don’t, Titus! I don’t understand. How can you be ok with so much death? I’ve been here for four months and I can’t--” her voice cracked just in time for her to keep from sharing any vulnerabilities with the man she was sure still harbored a desire to kill her.

Before she could collect herself and continue on a different path, the door behind her opened and Clarke once again felt her heartbeat quicken painfully in her chest. “Mom?”

Abby slipped out of the cracked door and looked at her daughter with an exhausted smile.

“How is she?”

The doctor looked over at Titus wearily, unsure of how to handle his presence.

Noticing the hesitation, Clarke reached out and placed her hand on her mother’s arms crossed over her chest. “It’s ok, Mom. Just tell me. Is she ok?”

Abby sighed and nodded. “For now. You did a good job. The bullet went clean through, only nicking that artery on its way out. You were smart to cauterize it. She’s lost a lot of blood, but Aden’s transfusion is helping.”

“So what do we have to worry about?”

“A number of things,” Abby said, tiredly. “Infection being the main concern. There’s also the chance, Clarke, that’s she’s just too weak to come back from this. She may--”

Clarke shook her head and turned to pace. “She’s strong. She’ll be fine. She’ll be fine, she has to be.” Her voice was confident, but the shake of her bottom lip and the tears in her eyes suggested otherwise.

“Clarke--” Abby grabbed her daughter’s arm and pulled her against her chest. “It’s going to be ok.”

Clarke’s sob was lost in her mother’s shirt as her shoulders shaked violently and her knees began to give way. “It’s ok, Clarke. I’m here. I’m here,” Abby soothed, rubbing her hand up and down Clarke’s back.

As if almost with a six sense, Clarke shot back from her mother’s embrace when Titus moved towards the closed doors.

“I must speak with Nyko,” the fleimkepa said, aware of Clarke’s movements to place herself between him and the door.  
  


“You can do that out here. I’ll get Nyko.”

As if finally beginning to learn to choose his battles with her wisely, the fleimkepa nodded and stood back for her to pass.

 

 

Clarke had to actively force herself to remember to breathe when she entered the room. Her eyes immediately went to Nyko who was towering over Lexa, dabbing her forehead with a damp cloth.  Aden sat on the other side of the bed looking exhausted and abnormally pale, but smiled softly when she entered.

“Wanheda,” came Nyko’s gentle voice.

“How is she?” Her eyes drifted to Lexa’s body and noticed the sheen of sweat that coated her. “She’s got a fever,” she followed, answering her own question.

Nyko nodded and pushed away from his Commander. “Your mother says the medicine she brought will help with that.”

“The antibiotics. Yes, they should help.”

“When will we know?”

“Know what?”

Nyko wiped his blackened hands on the cloth he had been using to cool Lexa down and walked over to meet Clarke. His eyes were penetrating and dark, but his presence was all the while gentle and open and it was disconcerting because everyone seemed to be so calm and understanding, while all Clarke wants to do was scream and rage and most of all, cry.

“Whether she will live,” the healer clarified.

Clarke shook her head and exhaled slowly. “She’ll live. She’ll be fine. We just have to watch her fever. Titus is waiting to speak with you outside.”

In an immediate response, Nyko’s eyes clouded with rage. “He shot Heda,” the man growled.

Suddenly Clarke was tripping over herself to keep Nyko from barging through the doors and slicing the bald man’s throat with the knife he now had drawn in a white-knuckle grip.  

“Nyko, think about what you’re doing. This is Heda’s decision, don’t be rash. Don’t--” Clarke tried to reason, but the grounder was already pushing past her and barreling through the doors. There was shouting and an audible struggle and Clarke could hear her mother trying to talk the two down, and then it went quiet.

“Mom?”

Silence.

“Mom?”  Clarke called out again a little louder.

“It’s fine--I’m fine, Clarke. We’re fine.”

When she heard Titus begin to speak calmly with Nyko a moment later, she slumped and brought her hands to her forehead, rubbing into the rising headache there that promised to turn into a migraine within an hour or so.

“You must rest, Wanheda.”

It was Aden who spoke, his voice sounding just as tired as she supposed she looked. She turned to him and offered a small smile. “Do you mind giving me a moment with her?”  She saw him glance down at the needle still in his arm and moved to help him. “Thank you for doing this,” she said quietly.

“It’s my duty.” Clarke could the familiar sound of her own tune. It was familiar in every way--the immediacy of the excuse as if it’d were a record, the complexity behind it, and most of all, the lie. Clarke had rehearsed the conversation she would have with Lexa when the commander healed in her head many times since her mother had kicked her out of the room. It always ended with her saying, “it was for my people.” But that hadn’t been true for her dealings with Lexa for a while now.  She had yet to admit that to anyone, though, so she certainly wasn’t going to push Aden. Instead, she simply nodded and sent him out of the room after washing and covering the puncture wound from his blood transfusion.

 

 

Now that the room was empty, she suddenly felt very scared. Like any wrong move might shatter Lexa into a million pieces and she’d be gone forever. Thought made her chest and throat ache and her stomach flip violently.

“Lexa,” she whispered as she crawled into bed next to her. “I’m here.”  She eyed her carefully, her gaze flicking from her face to her stomach to the rest of her, silently checking for signs--signs of distress, signs of movement, of healing, of anything because the stillness made her feel like she couldn’t breathe. It was too easy to let her imagination wander.  She ghosted the pads of her fingers up and down Lexa’s arm, still afraid that she might hurt her, but unable to keep from touching her. She needed the reminder of the hot skin to assure her that she was indeed alive.

Her thoughts roamed at the soothing rhythm of her fingers on Lexa’s arm. She thought back to the way Lexa had looked at her so wide-eyed and vulnerable after the kiss. How the commander’s tears had streamed down both of their cheeks. She could hear her own breathy whimpers and the way they were greedily collected by Lexa’s tongue and lips. Could still feel the way the slow hum of the commanders pleasure had vibrated along the vestibules of her being. They had both been so alive in that moment. So free and passionate and full of hope. Clarke desperately wanted that back. Even more so, she wanted back all the time before then that she had wasted with Lexa. All that time they had been together, so close, literally right next door, roaming the same halls, breathing the same air. All of those missed opportunities and wanton glances discarded so easily because she thought she had time. They were supposed to have so much time.

“Lexa--” Clarke’s voice cracks and her eyes dot the smooth skin of the commander’s arms with tears. “I need you to do one last thing for me--”

She had hoped for a response, though she certainly didn’t expect one. But when Lexa’s head twitched to the side and her breathing hitched in a sharp, painful gasp causing those once still eyes to flutter open and reveal milky, unfocused green eyes--

Clarke lurched forward, every fiber of her being straining against the now electric space between them. Her eyes darted back and forth, back and forth over her face wanting so desperately for this not to be a dream. When she felt a tiny squeeze at her hand, she knew that it wasn’t. Tears poured forth from her eyes and the chuckle that squeezed through her throat burned in the way that it told her they were both alive.

Lexa’s lips parted and quivered as she tried to speak, her brow furrowed in concentration, her free hand balled into a fist, her tongue desperately trying to moisten her dry and barren mouth--and when it finally came out it was nothing but a broken whisper.

But Clarke heard it. She heard it wash over her like cold water to a desert exile. It calmed her, replenished her, gave her hope and strength, made her want to keep going to find more, hear more.  

“What do you need, Clarke?” Came the reply again, a little louder, a little more complete.

Clarke smiled and brushed her thumb over the commander’s hot cheek, wiping away the small tear that had spilled out of those green eyes with the exertion of speaking. She cleared her throat and willed her voice not to crack.

“I--need you to just give me one last thing. I need you to not leave. I need you to make it through this. I need you--”

“That’s more than one thing, Clarke,” Lexa whispered haggardly, but there was a smile evident there was well. “But I will try, if you promise me one thing in return.”

“Anything.”

Lexa’s eyes fluttered closed and she exhaled in a hissed shudder. “Stay with me.”

Clarke nodded frantically and brought her lips to the Lexa’s forehead. She rested there as she silently cried, clutching at Lexa’s hand, trying to find her breath. “God, Lexa,” she sobbed, “I’ll stay with you forever.”

“And your people?”

Clarke smiled, finally finding her peace. “You are my people. And I love you.”

And so she stayed, and Lexa healed, they ended the wars and the spilling of blood. The City of Light was qualmed and the trapped souls set free. And Clarke kissed Lexa every day and every night, stole every moment that time offered them, built a life together and a people.

And in this peace, they honored the shores of the past, in their love, they forged the next, passed safely on their journeys together, their souls, finally meeting, again and again and again.   


	7. FSL and Gallery Clarke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One word prompt series: FSL- "Gallery"

Clarke might not have recognized her if she hadn’t just been staring at the Forbes magazine sitting under her easel catching paint drips. She had almost stepped on the pale face and green eyes that graced the cover when she had rushed out of the studio at the back of her gallery to greet the guest that had caused the front door bell to jingle.

But she did recognize her. There stood Alexandria Woods, famous young business extraordinaire, standing all crossed arms and wide stance in front of her new painting. Even without the magazine the woman was easily recognizable as someone important with long legs clad in those nice, charcoal-grey Armani pants.

Clarke assumed they were Armani, but really they could have been anything. Whatever the were, they fit well just like the white button up the woman wore rolled at the elbows. She was undeniably attractive and well dressed, but there was something disheveled about her as if she had been rushing from somewhere.

Clarke caught a glimpse of the Forbes-cover green eyes when The woman glanced over her shoulder briefly with a quick smile. “Sorry, I know you’re closing soon,” she said in a voice more gentle than Clarke would have expected from the woman, “I was told there’s a new piece worth making a side trip for, so I came straight from work. I’ll try to be quick.”

Clarke smiled and nodded before she realized that the woman had already turned back to her attention back to her painting. “No problem,” she added, feeling a sense of pride in having a fan in such a person as Alexandria Woods. “Let me know if you need anything.”

The woman nodded and continued to stare fixedly at the painting. It would have made her nervous to have her work scrutinized so closely in her presence if she hadn’t been doing this for close to a decade.

“I do have a question, actually,” came the woman’s gentle voice.

Clarke took a step forward so that she was inline with her. She watched in a mixture of pride and something akin to amusement as the woman furrowed her brow and opened her mouth several times before actually speaking. When she finally turned to her, Clarke was shocked to see those emerald eyes glossy with unshed tears.

Clarke’s lips parted slightly in a silent gasp that must have been obvious to the powerful business woman because she immediately turned her attention back to the painting with a small blush slowly creeping onto her face. “I’m sorry,” she almost whispered, “it’s just that–this may be one of the most beautiful paintings I’ve ever seen. Ms. Griffin’s best yet, I’m sure.”

It was then that Clarke realized the woman didn’t know who she was. Rather than embarrass her further, she simply smiled and nodded, trying to hide her own glossy eyes and tight throat. She had never before been so touched by how moved someone was by her work. “She would be flattered by the sentiment,” she added quietly.

“Well she deserves it. This is incredible. It all is. I’ve been following her work for close to a year now.”

Clarke smiled. She had only opened a year ago. “Did you come to the grand opening?”

Those green eyes turned to face her once more. She shook her head and smiled sadly. “I had a work function. Tried to reschedule, but the North American Business Guild was not having it,” she said with a chuckle.

She was certainly charming, Clarke would give her that.

“Seems every other function here has been in conflict with something related to my work. In fact, this is the first time in several months that I’ve had a chance to get back over here.”

“Well, I’m glad you could make it tonight.”

The woman hummed and turned back to the painting where she seemed to get lost for a moment. She literally shook herself a moment later and turned back to Clarke. “I’m so sorry. You’re probably trying to close up. This piece is mesmerizing.” There was another embarrassed chuckle.

The sound, and the woman, was growing on Clarke quickly. “No, no it’s not a problem. I don’t have anywhere to be.”

“Thank you.”

Clarke watched the way the woman’s eyes flicked up and down the canvas, drinking in every color and brush stroke. She desperately wished she could read minds in that moment. “You, uh, you had a question I think?”

The woman’s head snapped up in recognition. “Yes! God, where’s my mind? It’s been a…long day.”

“I understand. Take your time.” Clarke offered her sweetest, most genuine smile and was rewarded with a substantial relaxing of the woman’s shoulders.

“I may be overstepping,” Ms. Woods began, “but I think she’s underselling this.”

“Oh?”

The woman nodded. “This is a masterpiece. I’d pay thrice as much the asking.”

Clarke had to physically keep her eyes from bulging out of their sockets. Never had anyone suggested her work worth more than she priced it at. In fact, she often felt her numbers were a bit high for such a young artist.

“That seems like her, though,” the woman said bringing Clarke out of her thoughts.

“I’m sorry?”

“Well, I’ve just heard many things about her and her attitude towards art.”

“Like what?” Clarke couldn’t hold herself back now under the lure of anonymity.

“I have a few friends, business acquaintances really, who have met her. They say she’s incredibly humble and unassuming. And that she…” The woman paused and tilted her heads as if remembering, “…prefers the process not the price tag,” she stated with a smile. “Nice little alliteration there.”

Clarke was beaming. She loved alliteration and she had created that saying back in college when her roommates had asked her what she wanted out of an art career. It warmed her to hear it repeated back to her as a coined expression so many years later. “I still didn’t hear a question in there,” she said in words filled with the smile still on her face.

The woman chuckled and shook her head. “I guess not. And I guess it’s not really a question either, rather, a proposition.”

“You’re propositioning me?” Clarke groaned internally at the joke she had been un able to stop from pouring out. She had always been a horrible flirt. But something in those green eyes flashed in way that made her think she was perhaps not too terrible at it.

“Not currently, no,” came the woman’s teasing response. “Currently, I’m proposing an offer of 2.5 million for this painting.”

Clarke couldn’t keep her hand from coming to her stomach as she almost literally stumbled back in astonishment. She shook her head quickly as she tried to catch her breath. “No, no that’s too much.”

“I think that’s for Ms. Griffin to decide. Please, have her give me a call,” she said handing over a thick card-stock business card. “I’m–”

“Alexandria Woods,” Clarke finished for her as she reached for the woman’s extended hand, “I know who you are.”

The woman nodded with a small smile. “Lexa, please. And you are?”

Oh. Clarke swallowed nervously realizing that her game was up unless she planned on lying to her seemingly most adoring patron and a woman Clarke was undeniably intrigued by and attracted to.

“I-uh,” she began nervously. She sighed and renewed her grip on the woman’s hand. “Clarke Griffin.”

A laugh wasn’t what she was expecting from Lexa, but it’s what happened.

“Oh god, of course you are,” Lexa shook her head and gripped the back of her neck. “That would be my luck wouldn’t it?”

Clarke smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to mislead you, I just didn’t know how to let you know after we started talking.”

Lexa held up her hand and waved her off. “Please, my fault. I assumed poorly.”

A shared chuckle and then comfortable silence fell between them until Lexa remembered her purpose with wide eyes.

“Well, Ms. Griffin,”

“Oh gosh, it’s Clarke.”

Lexa smiled. “Clarke. My offer stands. As do my sentiments. This is an incredible piece.”

Clarke let out a long sigh and shifted on her feet, uncomfortable. And had it been anyone else, she would have jumped a mile back at the gentle hand on her shoulder. Instead she felt instantly calmed. When she looked up, her heart fluttered at the way Lexa was looking at her with such kind and adoring eyes.

“You deserve this, Clarke,” she said quietly. “Let me do this. Let me show you how incredible your work is.”

It was almost enough to bring tears to her eyes. The way that Lexa had read her so clearly and effortlessly was chilling in the most beautiful of ways.

“I’ll tell you what,” she said, her voice hoarse from emotion, “come back to wine night in a week. If you still want it for that price then, it’s yours.”

Before Lexa could open her mouth, Clarke knew what she was going to say. “Look at your calendar. If you have a work function,” she dug into her pocket and pulled out her business card, “call me. I’ll reschedule wine night.”

“Just for me?” Lexa asked, teasingly.

“Yes.”

The answer was simple and honest and full of something that visibly made the business woman squirm. Clarke only hoped that it was the same kind of squirming happening within her.

“I may come by tomorrow. To look around some more…”

Clarke smiled and nodded. “I hope you do.”


	8. Roommates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One word prompt series: Clexa au - "Roommates"

Lexa wasn’t nervous, per se, just weary. People like her and people like her new roommate rarely got along. She tried not to stare overtly, but the pink bedspread and bottles of perfume and fairy lights the girl’s mom was currently stringing up were hard to miss.

Lexa looked around at her own side of the room. Black bed, black eyeliner pencils strewn across her desk, old LPs taped to the walls.

They were as different as different could be and yet, when Lexa’s roaming eyes returned to her roommate’s side of the room, she found friendly and intrigued blue ones staring fixedly back at her.

The girl, “Clarke” as she had learned moments earlier, shot her a small smile before turning her attention back to her mom.

It was then that Lexa realized just how pretty her roommate was. She groaned internally. It would be just her luck to be placed with a gorgeous girl she definitely couldn’t hit on.

“Alright, Clarke. I think that’s it for what we brought. I’m going to go pull the car around. Meet me downstairs.” The woman turned to leave and then stopped in front of Lexa. “It was nice to meet you, dear. I hope you and Clarke have a great time together.”

Lexa smiled and shook the woman’s hand. “I’m sure we will.” Lie.

As soon as the door closed behind the woman, Clarke stalked over to Lexa and stood at the edge of her bed. “We need to get one thing clear,” she said ominously.

Lexa rolled her eyes. She was familiar with this talk. She had heard it from all the preppy girls in high school. It went something like, ‘keep your weird punk habits to yourself and stay away from my things.’

“Well?” She prompted, already annoyed.

Clarke crossed her arms and shifted on her feet. “Ok look–”

There were clearly nerves there and Lexa wondered if maybe this was her first interaction with someone who wore mostly black and had a motorcycle license.

“Well?” Lexa prompted again. “I don’t have all day.”

Clarke glared and huffed in a way Lexa had to admit was kinda cute.

“Ok well I’ll just say it–”

“Please do…”

“Well I would if you’d stop talking!”

Lexa threw up her hands and chuckled. “Fine. Fine. Speak.”

“Ok look. You like girls–”

“Whoa, hey–”

Clarke shook her head and threw up her hand. “My best friend is rooming with your brother. He already spilled the beans. And besides, you don’t check girls out the way you checked me out unless you like girls.”

Lexa fumed and made a mental note to smack Lincoln later. “Well, shit. Yeah, he’s not wrong. But look, it doesn’t have to be an issue–”

“Would you shut up? I’m not done.”

Lexa put up her hands once again in surrender and crossed them over her chest. She raised her eyebrows in a gesture for the girl to continue.

Clarke huffed in that cute way and restarted. “You like girls…and I like girls…and the thing is…you’re my type.” She visibly swallowed when she finished. Her eyes shot to the ground before she could see Lexa’s wide smirk.

“Is that so?” Lexa asked with that smirk evident in her voice.

Clarke nodded and tentatively brought her eyes back up to Lexa’s. She smiled slightly when she saw the other face looking at her openly without judgement. “Still think it doesn’t have to be an issue?”

Lexa reached out and hooked her index finger in the collar of Clarke’s shirt. She pulled gently until the blonde’s hips were pressing into the edge of her bed. “Issue’s not the word I have in mind,” she husked.

Clarke blushed and was ready to reply with something all too flirty when her phone rang and she jumped back. She pulled the phone out of her pocket and rolled her eyes. “It’s my mom. She’s probably wondering where I am. We’re going to Target. Wanna come?”

Lexa smiled with her bottom lip between her teeth and nodded.

In a way all too fitting of her pink bed spread and fairy lights, Clarke beamed and giddily pulled Lexa of her bed by her hand. She dragged her to the door, but then paused.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Oh NOW you ask?”

Clarke chuckled and dipped her head in slight embarrassment. “Can I?”

“Yeah, of course. What?”

The blonde shifted on her feet again and Lexa realized it must be a nervous habit.

“Am I your type?”

Lexa quirked a brow. “Hm?”

“Well, I told you you’re my type. What’s yours?”

Lexa smiled and rubbed her thumb across the back of the hand that still held hers. “You’re in luck, kid. I kinda have a thing for blonde girls named Clarke.” The wink was unnecessary, but there was something about this girl that made her feel bold. Maybe people like them could get along after all.


	9. Snapback, Holla back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: College or just Modern AU - Clarke thinks Lexa looks so hot in her backwards snapback hat and can't stop admiring how hot her girlfriend is.

Every five seconds. Every five seconds, Lexa had to bring her hand to her head to resettle her snapback from where Clarke had teasingly twisted it or batted at it.

“Baby,” she warned squeezing the soft hips of her girlfriend who was comfortably perched on her lap.

“I can’t help it,” Clarke whispered.

Lexa pressed a kiss to the curve just below Clarke’s ear and breathed in the pleasant smell of flowers, sweat and booze. “Try.”

Lexa turned her attention back to Lincoln and Octavia who sat across from her on the facing couch. Bellamy was throwing one of his usual Friday night parties, but with it being close to 3am, only his closest friends remained.

She was laughing at something Octavia was saying when she felt Clarke’s hand on her hat again. She reached up and grabbed the girls hand, bringing it to her lips where she pressed a hard kiss. “Clarke, stop. We’ll leave soon.”

Clarke shifted in her lap so that her mouth was against Lexa’s ear. “I can’t help it,” she whined in a whisper, “you look so hot in snapbacks.”

Lexa chuckled. “If I take it off will that calm you down?”

Clarke shook her head and walked the pads of her fingers up and down Lexa’s tan, bare arms. “All of you is really hot. You look really hot tonight.”

“Baby, you’re drunk,” Lexa rasped, running a hand up and down Clarke’s sweat-damp back. She had enjoyed watching her girlfriend dance and play drinking games all night, but now she worried that maybe she should have cut her off sooner.

“I’m not that drunk, Lex. Just buzzed, and–” Clarke nipped at Lexa’s ear lobe sending a chill down the brunette’s spine, “really horny.”

Lexa practically threw Clarke off of her with how quickly she stood. “We’re leaving,” she announced as she quickly grabbed Clarke’s jacket and purse from the couch. “Tell Bell if he needs clean-up help to text tomorrow morning. LATE morning,” she added looking at Clarke’s dilated pupils and hooded lids.

Once in the hallway, Clarke slammed her up against the wall and began unapologetically grinding her hips into her. “I really need you to get me off, Lexa” she panted desperately.

“Fuck, Clarke.” Lexa’s fingers dug into her girlfriend’s firm ass cheeks and drew her impossibly closer. “Not here,” she panted in between sloppy kisses, “come on, let’s go home.”

 

*

 

Lexa kicked out of the sheets as her chest heaved up and down. She held Clarke tightly to her and waited for the rapid puffs of breath in the crook of her neck to settle. She pressed gentle kisses into blonde hair as she tried to ignore the faint stinging on her ribs from where Clarke had clawed at her during her orgasm.

“That was a big one, huh?” She soothed as her fingers skated lovingly across Clarke’s back.

Clarke just nodded, her chest still rising and falling pretty rapidly. “Really big one,” she murmured.

“I’ll remember that thing with my fingers for next time then,” Lexa mused with a smile.

Clarke nodded again and nuzzled in closer. “I like that snap back,” she hummed.

“I could tell.”

It earned her a very weak smack to the ribs, but she was content when the hand rested there and began brushing over the scratches.

“I’m sorry I scratched you,” came Clarke’s tired voice.

“That’s ok, baby. Worth it.”


	10. A Shot in the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Clarke taking care of Lexa after she was shot and not wasting a minute of time away from Lexa who's recovering. (Canonverse)

There is a silent desperation in the way Clarke clings to Lexa’s side, her head on the commander’s chest and her arm swung low over the woman’s stomach to avoid the gunshot wound that is trying to heal. Even in sleep, her muscles strain to keep her as close to Lexa as possible, bodies connecting in every possible place. Clarke is always terrified of hurting her, but there’s a part of her, a part threatening to swallow her whole, that is even more terrified. It’s the part of her that thinks that at any moment, Lexa might disappear if she isn’t around to keep her there. It’s the part that outweighs the fear of hurting Lexa, because, at least if Lexa hisses in pain when her arm lands a little too heavily over her stomach, at least it means she’s alive. It’s the part that makes her needy and touchy and teary.

It’s why, every once in a while, when Lexa falls into a deep sleep and gets too still, too quiet, Clarke will nudge her gently until a small grumble tumbles out of the commander’s lips. Clarke will close her eyes and sigh in relief at the little noise that means Lexa is still fighting, still breathing, still alive. It’s why when her mother pulls her away to talk to Titus and Roan about the stopping of the Conclave, she physically shakes, trembles down to her toes at having to leave Lexa’s side. It’s why she pulls up a chair next to the bed and orders her mother to stay there, armed with a gun (just in case), and tells her not to move until she returns.

Before all of this, she might have been embarrassed to press so many gentle kisses into Lexa’s warm hairline and whisper a collage of assurances into her ear in front of her mother, but now, she felt a sense of pride, a sense of scalding loyalty that sometimes curled into a hint of defiance and disdain for anyone but Heda, her Heda, her love. Now, as she leans over Lexa and uses the gentle kisses and sweet words to soothe herself just as much as her lover, she does so with the confidence that says, _this is mine._

It’s the same confidence with which she holds Roan’s gaze. It’s in the way she places herself between the fleimkeepa and the Ice Nation King, her back to Titus as if to tell him that he no longer gets a say in matters of the Heda.

But the longer she was away from Lexa, the quicker that confidence seeped away. The longer she was there with them, the harder that ever present storm of anxiety hammered in her chest until all she could think was Lexa, Lexa, Lexa. Until suddenly she was grabbing Roan by the fur of his jacket, venom and (much to her annoyance) tears present in her eyes as she demanded that he control Ontari and keep her in check. And then she was gone, tripping down the dark hallways as she grasped at anything and everything in an attempt slow her heartbeat and her breath.

But it’s all just too much. The threats behind her, the endless stretch of hallway in front of her, separating her from Lexa, her ragged breathing echoing off the walls to beat down on her like the thrumming in her head.

She’s having a panic attack, her rational brain and medical experience knows. It happens like clockwork when she’s away from Lexa for too long. It always starts with that storm in her chest, then its the heat that washes over her, suffocating her from the inside out, the blackness closing in around the edges of her eyes tends to set in as she’s stumbling down the dark hallways, reaching out for the wall to steady herself. She can see the crack of light shining through the closed door of her room where Lexa lay sleeping, unmoved since being shot the week earlier.

The light begins to blur and move backwards, her hand seems to reach out for it, desperate to get there, to stop it’s retreat. Her head hurts and her lungs burn and there’s a whooshing sound in her ears that makes everything feel so chaotic and impenetrable. She just wants some quiet, some peace, some safety. She just wants to be curled into that warm skin, warm from the beating life there. Wants to feel that steady heart thudding beneath the gentle hand she’d place over Lexa’s chest.

Tears blur her vision further and that’s when she feels it. That unmistakable looming of fear that settles in her crevices until something spooks it out of hiding and suddenly its swarming through her and ravaging her nerves. She’s scared. So scared in the most human and fundamental of ways. No longer is she strong and hard, all set jaw and squinting eyes. Here, when the panic takes over and the fear slithers through her and Lexa is struggling to live just beyond her reach, this is when she collapses. In a heap on the floor, she sits shaking and gasping through the silent tears that drench her cheeks, her skin and muscles trembling painfully and she thinks she might throw-up or maybe pee herself, or maybe both. And its a fear of Lexa dying, of them being apart, but fundamentally its a selfish fear. Fundamentally she fears for her life and her happiness because she lives in a place where death is always coming. Violence is the law and everyone wants her erased or hurting and the only person who makes it all worth it has a hole in her stomach threatening to consume her.

She doesn’t feel the hand squeezing her shoulder at first. A face swims in her vision and their lips are moving, but the sound comes slowly like someone taking their time with the volume control.

Abby kneels before her, one hand on her shoulder, one cupping her cheek. She’s telling her to breathe, telling her to focus on the sound of her voice. It’s only when she hoists Clarke up by her armpits and leads her towards the room that Clarke begins to feel her body calm. The process will take a while. She’ll shake for long minutes after her breath returns to normal and she’ll be flush until she splashes her face with cold water.

But when she sees Lexa, awake and with a small smile settled weakly on her pale face, Clarke finally feels that fear settle back into her dark places and its enough for now.

“Clarke.”

Her name on Lexa’s lips drowns out the rushing in her ears and she feels that fierce loyalty and pride bubble up within her. It’s a warm feeling entirely different from the suffocating heat that had been creeping up her neck and face. Its a warmth that soothes her insides and extinguishes her blasting nerve-endings.

And then there’s that other thing that replaces the oppressive force in her chest. There’s the fluttering and dancing that makes her smile and want to chuckle quietly under her breath.

There’s the immense love.

“Lexa,” she breathes back as if it’s the only thing tethering her to reality.

When she crawls into the bed beside Lexa and peppers her neck and cheek with kisses, she almost has to stop herself at the memory that her mother is there, watching with conflicting emotions flitting through her eyes.

“Mom? Has she had pain medicine lately? She’s sweating,” she says, drawing her mother out of head. She knows it’s weird for her mother to see the extent of her love for this seemingly violent, grounder commander, she knows that their love verges on oppressive to anyone else in the room. Most of her doesn’t care, but there’s a small part of her that does. So she does what Clarke does best, and suppresses her wants and her needs for those of others. In this case, she peels herself away from Lexa and sits up to stare at her mother with an inquisitive look as if to say, ‘I’m giving you an out, are you going to take it?’

Her mother nods. “It’s been several hours. She should take some more.” When Abby grabs it and hands it to her daughter, she gives her a knowing look. She may not understand Lexa and the grounders, but she understands love and she understands her daughter. She offers her a small smile and squeezes her shoulder before leaving them alone.

When Clarke turns back to Lexa it’s as if she can read the subtle pangs of anxiety still rippling through Clarke as her trembling hand pushes the IV needle into her skin and connects the bag of medicine.

“Clarke,” she soothes, dusting the pads of her fingers over Clarke’s forearm, “it’s ok.” Her voice is tired and laced with the quiet pain that Lexa so bravely suppresses for the sake of the people around her.

Clarke nods silently, her gaze straining to avoid Lexa’s knowing that the love in those green eyes will crack her down to the core. It isn’t until Lexa weakly pulls her away from fiddling with the medicine that has been in place for a while now. She tugs on that trembling arm until the blonde hovers over her, her lips trembling and blue eyes watering.

“Clarke–hear me,” she brings a soft hand and presses it to her cheek, “feel me.”

Clarke nods and presses her forehead to Lexa’s, relishing in the warmth there. She breathes in deeply, steadying her breath and smiling at the faint earthy scent that seemed to always emanate from the young grounder.

“Ok,” she whispers. 

“Ok?” 

Clarke nods against Lexa and exhales slowly. 

“We’re ok,” Lexa soothes and strains to press a soft, and endearingly hesitant kiss to Clarke’s lips. 

Clarke hums, accepting Lexa’s assurances for now because they’re alive and together and that will always be enough, even when it isn’t. It’s enough in a world where every time Clarke closes her eyes. she hears the gun shot and sees the black blood pouring out of Lexa. It’s enough when her new world entails a crippling anxiety attack every time she strays from Lexa’s side. 

It’s enough in this world because Lexa breathes and Clarke can curl into her side every night and attempt to sleep. 

“Clarke?” Lexa’s soft voice comes out of the silence, grasping at Clarke’s heart and fortifying it from its trembling state. 

“Hm?” 

“Are you alright?” 

Clarke sighs and nuzzles her nose into Lexa’s lips and drapes her arm across Lexa’s middle. The commander tenses and immediately relaxes when Clarke expertly avoids her wound. 

“I’m fine,” Clarke replies, not exactly telling the truth, but not lying. 

“You’re shaking.” 

Clarke nods. “I’m scared.” 

The admission ripples through them both, touching them deeply in entirely different ways. Clarke shakes with the vulnerability that always seems to seep out around the older girl, and Lexa shakes with anger at the people and world who have instilled fear into her beloved. And she shakes with a wave of fierce protectiveness. 

Lexa brings an arm to Clarke’s back and rubs. “I get scared sometimes too,” she says softly. 

Clarke chuckles at how absurd the admission seems.  The sound brings a smile to Lexa’s face and she turns her head to place a loving kiss to the top of Clarke’s head. “It’s true, don’t laugh,” she teases. 

“I just have never seen you show any fear.” 

Lexa is silent for a moment, but Clarke can practically hear the thoughts coursing through the commander’s mind. When she speaks, it breaks Clarke’s heart. 

“That’s because, the only time I have really been afraid, afraid in the way that it hurts your body, is when you weren’t here to see it. When you disappeared…after the mountain,” and the guilt that is still evident in her voice makes Clarke want to cry. Coupled with the knowledge that Lexa was feelinganything close to the way Clarke now feels when separated from her commander for the three months she was gone as compared to the measly week she’s been struggling since Lexa being shot, finally draws tears from her eyes.  Her Lexa is so _strong_ , and it continues to astound her. 

When her tears land sloppily on Lexa’s forehead, Clarke shifts back and wipes at them quickly, embarrassed by how weak and blithering she must seem all the time now. Lexa just draws her back in a with a gentle hand on her chin. 

“I fear for you, hodnes,” Lexa whispers with something desperate in her eyes, “I fear for your happiness and your safety in our world, but I know that you’re strong and capable, so while I fear, I do not worry. That is what you must do, Clarke. You can feel fear, and take pride in your fear, but do not worry.”

“I highly doubt the great Heda takes pride in her fear,” Clarke teases emotionally. 

“But I do, Clarke. I do.” 

“Why?” 

Lexa sighs in thought and Clarke can hear the strain there. “I have rarely felt fear before you, Clarke. I feared for my people at times, but I knew that there would always be someone there to protect them if something happened to me. But I don’t trust anyone else to protect you. I feel fear now, Clarke, because you are special to me. I take pride in that fear, because it means I have someone to love. I fear for you, Clarke, because I love you.” 

“Oh Lexa,” Clarke sighs. “You have no idea.” She leans down and takes Lexa’s lips in her own, pushing the limits of the amount of activity she knows Lexa should be engaging in while recovering. But her love for Lexa is physically painful as it attempts to burst out of her chest, and she can’t help herself. “I love you too. I love you,” she breathes. 

Lexa beams and it’s the first time Clarke sees some color return to her face. “We will be ok, Clarke.” 

And for another first, Clarke believes her. 


	11. Injured

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Lexa injured in battle saving Clarke.

There’s an intense burning in the back of her head where she had been hit by something hard. She thinks it was maybe the hilt of a sword the way the pain focuses down to one round spot just above her neck. What she doesn’t want to think about is who is at the end of that sword. 

She knows her best bet of survival is to lie there completely still the way she had fallen, chin lodged painfully in the mud with her neck prone backwards. She silently thanks the training regiment Lexa had been putting her through that gave her arms the needed strength to break her fall and keep from snapping her neck. 

Her vision blurs with tears from the pain, but she can see glimpses of Lexa’s red cape as she plunges her swords into the bandits that had ambushed them on their trek to Polis. She tries to focus on the tall figure of her houmon, knowing that while she must be very still, she also remain conscious for her life and for the life of–

She closes her eyes at the thought and presses ever so slightly into her arms, relieving the pressure on her stomach. _Please be ok_ , she thinks desperately. 

She had been riding slightly behind Lexa having slowed up her horse to admire a flower growing on a low hanging branch when she was violently yanked from her horse and dragged to the tree line. She could hear Lexa shouting her name as she was dragged away, and then there was a cacophony of grunts and cries from the warriors that had been traveling with them.  Her eyes were glued to Lexa as the commander took a bandit down and then moved towards her, getting interrupted each time. 

Now, she just lay there as still as possible have resigned herself to the fact that Lexa wasn’t coming for her. She would have to wait it out or make a move, and she knew that the safest thing for her and her–

Her thoughts vanish and she hisses when she feels the sharp tip of the sword blade press into her neck. 

“I know you’re alive, _Branwada,”_ a gravelly voice spits out, “get up.” 

Clarke’s heart thuds in her ears as she tries to decide what to do. Her fingers are twitching in the mud like they want to act, but everything else in her tells her to stay still.  The decision is made for her when the man yanks her up by the back of her jacket and she yelps at the choking sensation it causes. 

“Easy,” she says carefully, “easy. Just tell me what you want.” 

The man opens his mouth to speak, and that’s when she hears it. It’s a ear-splitting scream that sends a chill rippling through her body. Using the distraction, Clarke twists out of the man’s grasp and sprints towards the tree line to see Lexa, held back by two large men while a third plunges a knife into the young natbilda who Lexa had claimed as her second. 

“I’ll kill you!” The commander screams, her body desperately writhing against the grasp of the two men. 

Clarke is about to run to her when she is suddenly slammed into the ground, gasping to catch her breath from where the wind had been knocked out of her. The grounder who had dragged her into the woods is now on top of her, shoving her face into the ground as he aggressively makes to tie her hands behind her back. 

Lexa is calling to her under the duress of the men holding her back when suddenly everything goes quiet. Clarke feels the weight of the man above her go dead and when his face falls beside her, she gasps. 

In another moment, she is being freed from the weight, a hand grasps her by the arms and pulls her to her feet, and when she sees that it’s Lexa, something breaks in Clarke. Suddenly she is crying and grasping at the commander, flinging herself against her solid chest and relaxing only when Lexa wraps her long arms around her and squeezes. 

“You’re ok, Clarke,” she soothes, and Clarke can hear the tears and pain of the natbilda’s death in the rasp of her voice. 

 

They’re less than a foot apart when Clarke finally pulls away and it happens. She hears it whistling in the wind before she sees it, and while she knows exactly what it is, it’s over in a second before she can do anything about it. 

An arrow pierces through the right side of Lexa’s chest with a sickening crunch and Clarke jumps when splashes of black blood hit her face. She’s trembling before Lexa even realizes what has happened, but when it hits her, the commander’s face twists and she staggers to her knees. 

“No, no, no, Lexa, stand up. You’re ok,” Clarke pants, her hands frantically pulling at Lexa’s shoulder guards. But the commander’s falling weight takes both of them down, Lexa sagging into Clarke’s arms. 

There’s no peace, though, there never is in this world,. A series of whistles scream through the air and Clarke knows that another onslaught of arrows have been released in their direction. She’s about to move, about to drag Lexa out of the line of fire when the commander jerks up and throws herself on top of her instead. It’s just barely enough time before they are surrounded by a shower, arrows slamming into the ground and trees around them. 

She thinks they’re unscathed when she pulls back after the air finally goes silent and Lexa is smiling at her. It’s a strange smile, a smile that make Clarke’s heart flutter, but her skin crawl. It’s a smile that is suddenly tainted black with the blood that leaks out of the corner. 

It’s then that she sees it. Lexa’s pin cushion of a body, the heads of arrows sticking through her stomach like a constellation. Her eyes search Lexa’s as her mouth strains to say something, anything to break the crippling silence. 

It’s not a word but a whimper that finally does it. It comes from Clarke, but it’s seen all over Lexa’s face. 

“I’m sorry, hodness,” the commander breathes, lines of black trickling down her chin. 

Clarke shakes her head hard, sending her tears splaying across her cheeks. “No,” she gasps, “no, you don’t get to do this again. I’m not doing this again!” 

Lexa sinks into Clarke’s hold and brings her hand to Clarke’s heart. “It will be ok, Clarke. Ste yuj.” 

“i don’t want to be strong, Lexa. I want to be with you! Always!” 

Lexa’s eyes flutter closed and it makes Clarke want to vomit. She’s been here before, they’ve done this once already, and it nearly killed her. The pain that wracked through her for months even after Lexa had recovered still haunted her body and her dreams. She refused to do this again. 

As if the earth were listening to her, she heard their guards before she saw them. They were running up to them, their breathing heavy from the fight. Wordlessly, they grabbed Clarke and their commander and began carrying them away. 

She squirmed in Monu’s arms, the black bearded guard who had scooped her up. Her arm ached from where it stretched to reach Lexa who was now1 unconscious in the other man’s arms. Her finger tips could just barely grasp at the commander’s clothes, but it wasn’t enough. She didn’t understand why she was being carried, she didn’t understand why she couldn’t be close to Lexa. 

When Monu gently placed her on the back of her horse, she understood. She understood it clearly in her right shoulder. She winced and looked down to see the the arrow lodged between her collarbone and shoulder joint, unaware of it until that moment. 

“Be still,” the grounder commanded as she twisted to get a glance at Lexa draped over the horse behind her. 

“Lexa–” 

“Heda will be fine. Stay still,” he repeated. 

Clarke gave up the struggle when a wave of pain slashed through her and sent her head reeling. The galloping of the horse pounded through her and she was grateful for the fact that Lexa wasn’t awake to endure the sickening sensation. It didn’t take long for it to work her over, though. They were only just beginning to pass back into familiar Trikru territory when the aching behind Clarke’s eyes finally took over, and everything went black. 

****

She awoke with a start, her shoulder searing with the jerking movement. Her head pounded and her vision swam and her clothes clung to her with the the hot layer of sweat the covered her skin. 

Lexa’s name was tumbling off her lips before Clarke was even able to slip out of the large bed. She said it again when she gingerly pushed through the heavy doors to the room and stumbled out into the hallway. 

“Lexa?” She asks in a horse whisper to one of the guards walking towards her. 

“Wanheda, you must rest.” 

She shakes her head and gropes for the man, finding support on his outstretched arm. “Please, where’s Heda?” 

She thinks he might argue, thinks he will tell her to go back to bed again, but he must must see it in her eyes. The desperation. The panic. The unequivocal need. Or maybe he cam empathize, maybe he loves Heda enough to understand, maybe he worries about his beloved commander as much as the young sky girl on his arm. So he gently wraps an arm around her waist and walks her down the hallway to a room Clarke had forgotten long ago. Her old room, the room Lexa had died in. The room in which a bullet had lodged itself in Lexa’s stomach and witnessed the worst day of Clarke’s life. 

“She’s in _there_?” 

The guard nods and when he senses her hesitancy he turns to Clarke, and kneels before her, dabbing at the beads of sweat on her head with the arm of his coat. 

“Heda needed to be alone while Nyko and Abby kom Skaikru healed her. You were placed in the other room where Monu tended to your wound. It was the fastest way to ensure both of your survival.” 

But Clarke wasn’t listening. She had stopped at the sound of her mother’s name. “My mom is here?” 

“Sha. She came to visit, but you had already left when she arrived. She chose to wait for your return.” 

“Where is she now?” 

The guard moves to his feet once he is done wiping down Clarke’s face and helps her towards the doors of her old room. “She is downstairs now. She was with you while you slept until Nyko required her help with Honda.” Clarke thinks back to the guard who had placed Lexa on his horse and remembers that he had had a large gash on his head. 

“Is he ok?” 

“Sha. I can get your mother, if you’d like.” 

Clarke shakes her head. “Later. I need to see Lexa.” 

The guard gives her a short nod and helps her to the door, steadying her by the waist when the site of Lexa’s pale face makes Clarke’s knees buckle. “Lexa,” she sighs, overcome with a simultaneous mixture of worry and relief. She is alive, but she is pale, and it reminds her so much of the last time that she was here, it makes the room swim. 

“Sit, Wanheda,” the guard says, pulling a chair to the side of the bed. 

The commotion has Lexa’s eyes fluttering open, her green orbs searching weakly until they land on Clarke’s face. 

“Hodness–” 

Clarke let out a soft, sobby chuckle as she nods and reaches out for Lexa’s hand. “I’m here, baby. I’m here.” 

“You’re ok–” Lexa says it as a statement, but Clarke knows it’s a question. She nods and brings her hand to cup the commander’s cheek. 

“I’m ok. Thanks to you.” 

Lexa smiles weakly and squeezes the hand that held hers. “Your life is precious, Clarke.” 

“So is yours!” Clarke doesn’t mean for it to come out so strongly, but sometimes–sometimes Lexa makes her so mad with her martyrdom. Sometimes, she thinks that her heart might just leap out of her chest one day and never return with the way Lexa threw her body and life around for the protection of others. She softens and shakes her head against the tears that have begun to build back up in her eyes. “Why did you do that, Lexa? How could you have been so careless?” 

The commander glances over at the guard still hovering behind Clarke and sends him away with a slight nod of her head. She waits for him to exit before she presses her forehead to Clarke’s and takes slow, steadying breaths there. A smile creeps onto her face at the beloved scent she has come to know and love so dearly. “You smell good,” she murmurs. 

“Lexa–don’t. Don’t change the subject. How could you do that?” 

Lexa pulls her hand from Clarke’s and slowly brings it to the blonde’s chest. With a shakey finger, she traces a line down between her breasts and rests at the slight curve of her stomach, thoughtfully. “I had two very good reasons,” she whispers.

It stills Clarke and warms her, a revitalized wave of emotion crashing through her. She smiles tearily and sighs. “You knew?” 

Lexa hums and swipes her thumb across the soft fabric of Clarke’s shirt. “Of course.” 

“I was going to tell you–” 

Lexa presses her lips to Clarke’s before she can finish and they both sigh, the breath they’d been holding since the attack releasing around them in a pocket of love and peace. 

When Lexa pulls away, she’s stares into Clarke’s eyes with an intensity and truthfulness that makes the blonde shiver. 

“Clarke, I am sorry if this upsets you,” Lexa says softly, “but I will always choose your life over my own. I will always protect my houmon, and now” she palms Clarke’s stomach and smiles, “my yongon, with my life. So when you ask why, I tell you again, I had two very good reasons.” 

And Clarke wants to me mad, wants to tell Lexa never to do anything so stupid again. And she will, but not now. Not when she has her family, happy, alive and full of promise.  


	12. FSL and Wife Clarke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some random FSL I thought up...

Clarke could tell by the way Lexa slumped over the kitchen island counter that the big meeting had not gone well. What’s more, there was something about the way her wife’s finger absentmindedly skirted around the edge of her scotch-filled glass that told Clarke that there was more than just anger and frustration coursing through Lexa. There was something much more disturbing. There was a deep sadness tinged with Lexa’s old tell-tale signs of insecurity they had spent so much time working through. It made Clarke surge with a sudden and overwhelming desire to soothe and protect her sweet, driven and unbelievably passionate wife.

Her movements quickened as she slipped out of her heels and discarded her keys and purse on the table next to the door. “Baby?”

Lexa had undoubtedly heard her when the elevator door to their penthouse apartment had dinged open, but the tired CEO hadn’t looked up. It was only when she heard the concern in that familiar and comforting sing-songey voice that her finger stilled on the rim of her glass and her watery, green eyes raised to meet her wife.

Clarke picked Lexa’s discarded suit jacket off the floor from where it had most likely been thrown in a moment of rage, folded it and placed it on the back of one of the tall kitchen island chairs. To say that she was shocked and completely disconcerted to see tears in Lexa’s eyes would be putting it lightly, but she knew her wife well enough to know not to draw attention to it. Instead, she rounded the island and pulled at Lexa’s belt loops until they were pressed together in a tight embrace.

“Hey, baby,” she breathed, her nose tucking into the crook of Lexa’s neck.

Lexa stroked up and down Clarke’s back trance-like, deep in thought. “Hey,” she murmured.

“Do you want to talk about?”

“Not really.”

Clarke nodded and pulled away slightly, her hands sliding down Lexa’s sides to rest on her hips. “How about something fun?”

The beginnings of a smile and the curious, playful quirk of Lexa’s brow had Clarke internally sighing in relief. “Like what?”

Clarke hummed in thought, her thumbs unconsciously rubbing soothing circles into Lexa’s hips. “We could do a show? Hamilton is still on.”

Lexa shifted uncomfortable and glanced at the floor. “I think I wanna dress down tonight, if that’s ok…”

“Of course, baby.” Clarke placed her hand on Lexa’s chin and drew her face up. “Whatever you want.”

The CEO smiled and nodded, ever grateful for Clarke’s calm and gentle presence on days like these. She let out a soft chuckle as she noted the blue paint dried in the baby hair around Clarke’s forehead and reached up to pick it out.

Clarke’s eyes twinkled as she fell into laughter with her wife and felt both of them relax. “I guess I missed some.”

“Not much,” Lexa hummed and gave her a wink as she picked out the last pieces of the dried paint. Her hand remained as she studied Clarke’s face, her thumb brushing slowly across Clarke’s cheekbone.“You’re beautiful,” she mused.

Four years they had been married and she still blushed and looked down with a soft smile at the loving compliment. “So,” she cleared her throat, and looked back up, her eyes sparkling, “how about a movie?”

Lexa beamed like a child and Clarke felt her heart swell. “Someone likes that idea,” she chuckled.

“Sounds perfect,” Lexa breathed, “let me just change.” She turned to leave, but the soft pads of fingers caught her wrist. When she turned, the glint in Clarke’s blazing, blue eyes made her tingle.

“Can I help?” Came Clarke’s raspy and heady question.

Lexa drew Clarke towards her and smirked. “Always.”  She sealed the promise with a kiss, and they both knew the movies would have to wait for a little while.


	13. If Kisses Could Kill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: If Clarke hadn't pulled away from the kiss in 2x14

“I–I can’t do this right now, Lexa,” Clarke breathed, her lips still inches from Lexa’s. It felt heavy in her chest to pull away, made her want to whimper at the loss of warmth and comfort, but now was not the time.  She rested her forehead against Lexa’s for a moment before stepping back, her eyes searching those green pools and warming slightly at the insecurity quickly settling there.

“I thought–I’m sorry, Clarke. I–” Lexa stammered and recoiled, distancing herself from the blonde, that hard mask effortless falling back into place. 

Clarke stilled the commander’s retreat with a gentle hand to her waist. “You weren’t wrong,” she assured her softly.  She smiled slightly at the hint of relief that flashed across Lexa’s face at the words. “I’m just–there’s too much to do. Too much we don’t know. I need to focus.”  Clarke knew the warrior, the leader in Lexa would understand, but the words still felt bitter on her tongue. They were true, but she didn’t like them. Didn’t want them to put whatever had just happened between the two of them on hold. 

“So we’ll wait,” Lexa’s calm voice came over the silence. 

Clarke nodded. “Just for now.” 

Lexa’s jaw worked as her chin lifted slightly in acknowledgement.  “I should–” 

“Yeah,” Clarke said quickly, her hand falling from Lexa’s waist as she stepped back.  She turned after some shared awkward mumbling about needing to do this and that and left Lexa’s large tent. 

Lexa watched her go, her jaw still working tirelessly to combat the emotions that wanted to spill out on her face. The breath she released was relieving when she finally let it go, her hands pressing into the wood of the table she hunched over. 

She barely had time to process the flapping sound of her tent being entered before she was being pulled upright, strong hands wrapping around her waist and pulling her slightly off balance. She stumbled into Clarke’s sudden embrace, her hands instinctively going to Clarke’s cheeks to catch the motion. 

“Just one for the road,” Clarke mumbled, her lips pressing into Lexa’s before the commander could furrow her brow at the strange skyperson expression. 

The blonde was gone as quick as she had come, but the grin on her face, the one that matched the commander’s, remained until Lexa kissed it away again that night when Clarke accidentally found herself in the commander’s large tent before bed. 

“One more for the…road?” Lexa asked, a smirk playing at her lips partially hidden by the shadows of the candles flickering against the night. 

Clarke shrugged playfully. “Maybe a couple more.” 


	14. Mt. Weather Commander Style

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Lexa not leaving Clarke at the mountain: Clarke and Lexa have to decide whether or whether not to pull the lever and Lexa pulls the lever for Clarke so the burden isn't on Clarke's shoulders.

The hand on Lexa’s lower back was unnecessary as they crouched in the hallway peeking around the corner, but the commander was warm and solid and the only thing keeping Clarke’s fear from surging up through her throat and out onto the floor. And besides, the commander had her long, armor-clad arm stretching behind her and pressing into Clarke’s side as if to shield the younger girl from view, so it seemed only fair that she return the contact. 

When she felt Lexa tense, her fingers curled into the fabric of the red cape, willing herself to soak up some of it’s strength, it’s power. “What?” She hissed. 

The commander turned to her with her finger on her lips. She then held up her hand indicating for her to stay, and before Clarke could react, Lexa was tearing down the hallway, both swords twirling around her like a helicopter. 

She watched from her frozen crouch, her body pressed up against the wall in an effort to be as inconspicuous as possible. And while the adrenaline coursing through her blood ached and tingled, the caked blood on her skin itched, the gash in her leg throbbed, the fear in her mind pounded, there was a beauty to Lexa’s movements. There was an almost serenity that passed over Clarke as part of her began to relax at the overt confidence and competence of the woman she’d been paired with to follow into the mountain. 

She thought back to that moment, the pairing, with Raven’s bomb lodged in the door, grounder warriors huffing and growling all around her, Lexa’s calm, powerful voice barking orders and grouping warriors together for different missions. She had felt a sort of flutter in her chest when those green eyes finally landed on she and Lincoln in their spot behind a large rock. “I’ll stay with Clarke,” Lincoln had said before the commander could speak. 

“No. Clarke goes with me.”

No one questioned the finality of the order except for Kane who demanded Clarke be kept in a safer place. 

“There’s no safer place than by Heda’s side,” Lincoln had assured.

 

*

 

And as Clarke crouched there, head just barely peeping around the corner to watch as Lexa cut down guard after guard, she understood the truth of Lincoln’s words. Despite the fact that Lexa had rushed the two of them straight into the mouth of the mountain, right into the thick of things, there was no safer place for her than right there. And if there were any question left in her as to Lexa’s ability to keep them safe, it disappeared when Lexa turned towards her, eyes widening for a mere millisecond before her dagger went slicing through the air just above Clarke’s head. 

By the time Clarke heard the silent “oof” and thud behind her Lexa was already turning back to the other guards at hand, seemingly unfazed that they were coming from all directions. When she chanced a look behind her, the image of the crumpled guard behind her with Lexa’s knife lodged in the middle of his forehead made Clarke dry-heave and shudder.

It was only moments later when the hallway fell silent and Lexa turned to her, chest heaving and covered in blood. The commander beckoned to her and Clarke peeled herself out of her crouch as quickly as she could, forcing herself to ignore the throbbing and ache in her muscles and the sound made when she yanked the knife out of the guard’s head to return to the commander.

Lexa had been the one to fight her way down the hall, but when Clarke reached her, the commander’s hands flew to Clarke’s face, cupping her cheeks and turning her head from side to side, searching for injuries. “Are you hurt?” She asked, still heaving, voice raspy from exertion. 

“I’m fine,” Clarke replied quietly, their faces inches apart as she slipped the knife back into the holster on Lexa’s hip. 

“There’s blood–” Lexa noted, her thumb swiping at the red line that trickled down Clarke’s forhead.

“Not mine,” was all the explanation Clarke could muster as she nodded towards the crumbled guard behind her. 

Following her gaze, the commander nodded once and let her hand fall from Clarke’s face.  Again, Clarke was confronted with the unsettling reality of just how comforting Lexa’s touch was and just how cold and scary the world felt without it. But now was not the time to dwell. Lexa had kissed her, she had kissed her back, several times–the memory almost brings a smile to her face–but that’s all that could be said about those moments right now. They had happened, Clarke had liked it, and still, the war raged on, unconcerned with whatever was happening between them. Time rushed forward, and so must she. 

“What now, Clarke?” 

Clarke looked at Lexa, startled–until now, she had been following, nodding and dutifully taking Lexa’s orders because she knew it was keeping her alive. But now, the commander’s green eyes stared at her with such trust and inquisitiveness it made her shake. 

“Clarke, focus,” Lexa ordered, the calm, confidence of her tone doing wonders for Clarke’s panic. 

Clarke blinked rapidly and inflated her lungs, “Ok,” she muttered, thinking, “I need to get to the control room. Monty and Bellamy are already there. We need to talk to–” 

“Clarke, clarke–” Bellamy’s voice came like a crackle over the radio tucked into the waist of Clarke’s jeans. 

“Bellamy? What’s is it, what’s wrong?” 

“Dante’s dead.” 

“He’s– _what?_ ” Clarke groaned and slammed an open palm against the concrete wall of the hallway. “He can’t be. He was just fine!” 

“A  _grounder_ killed him,” Bellamy growled, and Clarke felt Lexa tense beside her. She pinched her eyes shut, taking a moment to herself to think about what to do. She could feel Lexa shifting uneasily beside her like a wild animal, trapped and listless. 

The hand to the commander’s wrist was automatic. It happened before Clarke could stop herself, let alone open her eyes. But it did the trick, stilling Lexa in her place, the renewed calm practically washing through the entirety of the hallway. So Clarke kept her eyes closed and thought. 

She didn’t like the solution that came to mind. It made her stomach turn violently, her heart pound against her chest as if trying to escape from the inevitably of its destruction following a decision like this. But it was the only option that seemed to surface.

Her eyes fluttered open and she met the hard, piercing glare of Lexa’s green eyes. 

“Clarke.” 

“I have to threaten him. Cage. His people need to be on the line like mine…ours… are. It’s the only way he’ll let them go.” 

It sounded ridiculous as she spoke it, but to Lexa’s credit, the commander just nodded that calm, once down and up, and gently pulled her wrist free from the soft grip Clarke still had on her. She crossed the freed hand into Clarke’s space and pulled out the knife that sat on Clarke’s hip, matching her own. She placed it in Clarke’s grip and wrapped the girl’s trembling fingers around it, gently squeezing the shaking hand there as if to transfer some strength. 

“I have my gun,” Clarke whispered, her eyes fixed on her newly knife-clad hand. 

Lexa shook her head. “Silently, Clarke. We draw no attention.” 

 

*

 

By the time the two shoved into the control room to the astonished faces of Bellamy and Monty, Lexa was covered in filth and Clarke was still almost as pristine owing to her sword-twirling body shield. 

Without thinking, Clarke took a moment to rake her sleeve across Lexa’s face, removing some of the excess gore as the commander sheathed her swords, a moment so oddly domestic and intimate it made Bellamy and Monty shift and avert their eyes until they resorted to clearing their throats.

The two leaders snapped to attention and broke away from each other with matching flushed faces. Clearing her throat, Clarke quickly updated the other sky people while Lexa watched the door. 

 

 *

 

“You want me to  _what?”_ Monty asks, the shock evident in his furrowed brow. 

“Just–can you do it or not?” Clarke’s eyes are pleading and jumpy as she chews at the antennae of the radio. The anguish is written all over her face and when she looks at Lexa, she has to quickly turn away, unable to meet her eyes. 

Monty nods wordlessly and taps away at the commuter. Clarke brings the radio back up to her mouth and exhales, steeling herself. 

“This is your last warning, Cage. Let my people go, or I’ll irradiate the mountain.” She flinches against her own words and is suddenly very thankful the demonic leader of Mt. Weather can’t see her. 

A shuffle on the monitor grabs all of their attention as Cage and another man walk swiftly out of the first frame and into the hallway on the next. Clarke can’t contain the whimper she lets out at the man’s defiance. “Don’t–”, her voice is raw, shaking, “Don’t do this, Cage. Don’t make me do this!” She’s pleading with him now, her whole body aching against the idea of killing everyone inside the mountain. 

Bellamy grabs the radio from Clarke, his eyes and jaw hard. “Think about the kids, Cage. We don’t have to do this!” 

On the monitors, Cage ignores the radio, his hands moving wildly as he instructs the man by his side. 

“It’s Emerson,” Clarke squeaks out, her voice hoarse and strained. 

“Where’s he going?” Came Monty’s small, panicked voice. 

“He’s…shit,” Clarke’s eyes widen as she whirls around to Lexa who has remained silent and stoic by the door. “He’s coming here. Lexa–” 

By now, the commander knows full well that her warriors are flooding the hallways. They’re not on the monitors, but she knows they’re there. She’d been silent, and watching, but she’d also been counting, waiting for her warriors to get into place like she’d instructed them too. 

Emerson would never get very far, but Clarke didn’t know that. And now, watching the sky leader break and crumble before at the thought of the task at hand, Lexa knew how to work that missing information to her advantage. 

“Bellamy,” Bellamy’s head whipped up in surprise at the direct address of the commander, “take Clarke, cut Emerson off. He cannot make it into the control room.” 

Clarke looked at her in shock. The commander had spent the last several hours forcing Clarke out of danger and now she was asking her to go straight towards it. Clarke would be lying if she said she weren’t scared when Bellamy nodded and took Clarke’s gun from the table and replaced it into her hands. All the while her eyes remained wide on Lexa. But it was the commander of the twelve clans asking her to do this,  _trusting_ her to do this, so of course, she would. But she didn’t have to like it. 

Clarke’s eyes betrayed her, every emotion flashing through them like silent pleas to the commander. Lexa could only clench her jaw and accept that Clarke was in no real danger, even if Clarke herself didn’t know that. Lexa knew it, had to believe it, and that was enough. When this was over, Clarke would understand, she’d be safe, happy, and that’s all that mattered. 

“Go, now,” Lexa urged gently, her face softening in encouragement as Clarke took one last glance at her before rushing out of the door behind Bellamy. 

Effortlessly, her eyes hardened and her face went rigid as she turned to Monty who cowered slightly under her fiery gaze. “Can you still do it?” She asked him, level and full of danger. 

“I’m–I’m sorry? What?” Monty didn’t even try to hide his stutter as he sat alone in the dark room with the commander of death staring at him with silent fury in her eyes. 

“Can you irradiate the mountain?” 

Monty tried to shove down the bundle or fear and nerves in his throat as he nodded. 

“Do it.” 

“Now?” 

Lexa nodded once, her eyes now staring at Cage on the monitor above her head. 

“But Clarke–” 

“Does not need to bear this burden. Not this one. It would…she’s strong, but not this one,” Lexa murmured, uncharacteristically feeling in front of anyone other than said sky girl. 

“Are you sure?” Monty asked, torn between fearing Lexa and his loyalty and trust in Clarke. 

There’s something overtly violent that flashed through the commander’s eyes as she turned her attention back to the timid delinquent at the computer. “Do it, now,” she seethed, her patience wearing thin. 

 

*

 

Clarke is running behind Bellamy, her body crouched as they round corners and charge blindly towards Emerson who, unbeknownst to them, has already met the tip of a grounder’s blade, just as Lexa knew. 

She thinks they have to at least be close to intercepting him when suddenly the hallways fill with the blare of sirens and everything stops. 

“Clarke?” Bellamy is looking at her over his shoulder, his face bunched in confusion. 

Clarke shakes her head, her mouth gaping in an explanation that refuses to manifest. She turns to look behind her, then back at Bellamy, searching for an answer, but the hallway yields nothing. 

“Lexa–” Bellamy supplies. 

As if on cue, the sound of hurried footsteps echo just down the hall before two figures come sprinting around the corner. With Monty hot on her heels, the commander runs towards them and yanks Clarke out of the hallway and into an alcove just as a herd of emaciated grounders comes pouring around the opposite corner. 

Clarke hears Bellamy land in a thud just to her left after having leaped out of the way and sighs knowing that he’d made it out of the thoroughfare as well. She’s pressed into Lexa’s body, the commander’s arms wrapped tightly around her, cushioning their fall as she’d pulled them out of the path of the stampede.

Lexa’s front is warm and solid, and Clarke can’t enjoy it, because there’s guilt bubbling at the base of her throat with how good it all feels. She knows without having to be told that just a few hundred feet from her lie the charred bodies of the inhabitants of the mountain, and she’s here, unscathed and relishing the comfort of Lexa’s proximity. She wants to vomit. She wants to cry. She never wants to move.

 

She gives herself a quick and quiet moment to relax into Lexa’s embrace, allows the commander to not so subtly press her nose into the back of her head, drawing them ever closer.

“What happened?” She asks in a whisper.

“The mountain has fallen, Clarke. Our people are free.”

Reluctantly, Clarke shifts and pulls out of Lexa’s arms so that she can turn to face her. “What about the cages?”

“Mechanized,” Monty supplies, his voice tired and burdened, “a touch of the button and they were all open.”

“Explains the stampede,” Bellamy grunts, rubbing at his ribs.

Clarke turns back to the commander, nodding slowly. “And what about _my_ people? They’re still chained up. My mom, Harper, Raven—“

“That’s next, Clarke.” Lexa’s voice was still so calm and steady. It would have been unnerving if not so comforting. “You’re going to go with Monty. Tell the others. The battle is won. They must sound the horns, Indra and Octavia will know to retreat from the tunnel.”

Clarke feels the familiar gurgling of panic start in the pit of her stomach, rising to her chest with every passing realization that Lexa isn’t coming with her. She shakes her head and grips onto the commander’s forearms. “What about you, where are you going? Why can’t you come with us? You should be the one to tell them anyways, they won’t believe me. What if they think you’re dead? Lexa, you have to—“

“Clarke,” Lexa stands and pulls Clarke with her, “all will be fine. My people respect you. They follow you. Tell them the battle is won. I will be right behind you.”

She wants to argue, wants to plant herself firmly in front of Lexa and refuse to leave without her, but Monty places his hand on her back and gives her a small smile. He wants to leave, wants to put this terrible place behind him, wants to forget what he’s just helped the commander do, and it’s clear across his face. So Clarke swallows the argument and nods once, like she’s seen Lexa do as if it will give her some kind of strength, and let’s Monty lead her away. She doesn’t turn when she hears Lexa and Bellamy take off down the hallway, knowing that if she did, she’d push Monty towards the entrance of the cave by himself and go after them.  

 

*

 

Minutes creep by as Clarke paces in front of the entrance to the mountain, Lexa’s warriors equally as uneasy as they stand behind her and wait for their leader.  She can feel Indra’s eyes on her, piercing through her with distrust and simmering anger. Somethings never change.

With each pace, she regrets her decision to leave Lexa and Bellamy. She knows they’re more than capable, knows they’ve been through worse, but the idea of them, and her people, stuck inside the belly of that unforgiving mountain makes her quake under the skin, deep and relentless so that she feels unsteady on her feet.

“What’s taking so long?” She hisses, her hand rubbing at the growing ache in her forehead. She can almost feel the soft brush of Lexa’s thumb against her head, wiping away the blood that had been there, and it hurts. It hurts deep in her chest and squeezed at the muscles there. She closes her eyes, swallows, sucks in short puffs of air through her nose and tries to keep herself grounded.

“Clarke—“

“Not now, Octavia,” Clarke says, brushing off the voice over her shoulder.

“Clarke, look.”

There’s a rush of relief that washes through her when she see’s Bellamy limping out of the mountain with their people following suit. She runs to them, bouncing from person to person, checking their health.

“Mom?” She cradles Abby’s face in her hands. “Are you ok?”

There are tears in the doctor’s eyes when she nods and places her hands over Clarke’s. “Fine,” she rasps, “I’m fine, Clarke.”

For a moment Clarke just smiles and nods, a teary chuckle erupting from her lips at the sight of her mother and people safe. But it hits her suddenly, like slamming into a wall, wracking through her and making her stomach plummet when she realizes there’s one missing.

She whirls around so fast it makes her dizzy and before she knows it, she has Bellamy’s jackets bunched in her fists. “Where’s Lexa?” She doesn’t even try to hide the panic and concern as she searches Bellamy’s brown, hesitant eyes.

“I had no choice, Clarke,” he mutters.

“What—what are you talking about?”

“Cage…he must have already had the treatment. He didn’t die from the radiation. Lexa and I—we were getting everyone out of the chains when he showed up. He lunged for Lexa…I’m sorry, Clarke. I had to get our people out.”

Clarke is nodding aggressively because she knows Bellamy had to do it, but her lips tremble and eyes fill with tears and she can’t stop herself from pushing past him towards the opening.

“Clarke!”

She ignores their calls, her feet stumbling forward on their own accord. Everything is a blur and her heart pounds so loudly in her ears she notices nothing as she runs through the eerily empty halls. Her breath is shallow and stings in her chest the harder and faster she runs, but she can’t stop.  Every ounce of her focuses on blocking out the images of what she may find as she rounds each corner until she crouching at the doorway of the room her people had been chained up in.

She can hear Cage’s voice inside, smug and cold as ice. The absence of Lexa’s voice and what that may mean gives her the last bit confidence needed to burst into the room with her gun drawn. Her eyes immediately hit Lexa who is on her back with wide and wild eyes full of fury and aggression. The challenge in her is clear even despite the bleeding hole on her shoulder.

Clarke can tell it’s a gunshot wound due to its shape and size and that’s when her eyes finally fall on Cage who still has his back to her. He stares at her over his shoulder with his gun still trained on the downed commander, body tense and ready to act.

“Cage—“ Clarke tries, her gun raised and ready.

“You killed _everyone,”_ he seethes.

Lexa growls and pushes up onto her elbows. “You’re wrong. She didn’t kill them. I did.”

There is a something rough in Lexa’s voice and it takes Clarke a moment to realize it’s pain, something so foreign to her in regards to the commander who never showed vulnerability, that it wasn’t immediately recognizable in the gravel of Lexa’s words. When she pins the sound, she swallows hard and lets her gaze fall back on the commander. She eyes her wound carefully and worries at the rate with which it’s oozing Lexa’s jet-black blood.

Cage only burns at the words and cocks the safety on his gun. “I’m going to kill you, and then I am going to kill her, and everyone who matters to you.”

Clarke takes a step forward and steadies her hands. “I won’t let you do that. I don’t want to have to do this, Cage, but I can’t let you kill her.”

The next moment happens in a blur. The man turns on his feet and thrusts Clarke backwards causing her gun to clatter to the ground. Seconds later, he slams her against the wall with a violent thud, his gun digging painfully into the soft skin under her chin. It happens so quickly, Clarke hardly has time to yelp and register the pain in her head where it was slammed against the wall before Cage’s hot breath is washing over her face.

“You’re going to bleed, Clarke Griffin. I promise you that.”

Her eyes are closed when the sound of the gunshot reverberates violently around the room. She clenches and waits for the pain to come, but it never does. Instead, when her eyes flutter open, she catches Cage’s wide, glossy eyes as he sputters and his guns slips from her chin. The way his body slides down hers makes her cringe, but it pales in comparison to the sight in front of her that’s revealed by his removal.

Never before had Clarke seen Lexa’s eyes look so scared and lost, almost as if they saw nothing, but felt everything. Her outstretched arm shakes violently under weight of her actions, the gun attached to her hand jumping around like it wanted to escape.

When their eyes meet, the commander drops the gun with a small gasp and stumbles away from it. “I—“ she stutters.

“Lexa,” Clarke heaves and rushes to her, catching the warrior just as her knees buckle, taking them both down in a heap, “It’s ok. I’m sorry, it’s ok,” she pants on repeat, running her hand through Lexa’s hair as the girl shivers in her arms.

“I touched it…I _used_ it.”

The anguish on Lexa’s face is what does it. It breaks Clarke and the tears come spilling from her eyes as she cups the commander’s face in her hands. “You _saved_ me, Lexa. You saved me,” she cries.

There’s a moment, as Clarke presses her lips gently to Lexa’s forehead, when she knows they’ll be ok. She knows that there is only so much suffering in the world before the tide is forced to change. She just needs to ride it out, survive until that time comes, and with Lexa in her arms, pressed against her chest, she thinks for the first time that she just might be able to do it.“Don’t do anything so reckless ever again,” she says as she draws back and stares into those murky green eyes.

“I do what I must, Clarke.”

Clarke chuckles through her tears and shakes her head. “You _must_ live, Lexa. That’s what you must do from now on, ok? That’s what I need you to do.”

Lexa nods and presses their foreheads together. “Ok, Clarke.” And she smiles. It’s soft and small and riddled with exhaustion and pain, but it’s there and it makes Clarke’s heart swell because it’s real and true, and she thinks it just might meant that they will all be ok.


	15. Approval

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Abby not wanting Lexa to be with Clarke and Lexa proves herself worthy. 
> 
> Five times Abby does not approve, and one time she does.

**Five times Abby disapproves…**

**1.**

Abby doesn’t know her daughter anymore, she realizes. It should make her sad, she thinks, but instead it makes her angry. Frustrated. Lost. When her little party and the guards escorting them through the dark halls of Polis approach grand double doors to a room she can only assume to be the commander’s, she watches Clarke stall. She can see the deliberation in her blue eyes, the quick flickings of scenarios playing out under that golden blonde hair she got from her father. She recognizes the debating as it swirls on her face. At least that much she still knows. Maybe it’d be better if she didn’t. 

She watches as the guards, sentries outside the doors, move to stop Clarke once she makes her decision. Watches as Clarke, with one hand on the door and one hand raised, tells them to stand down. Watches in surprise as they do, “Sha, Wanheda,” and step back. She turns to Marcus beside her who looks just as perplexed but decidedly more intrigued. 

“We will wait for Wanheda before continuing to the throne room,” one of the guards leading the visitors says towards her. She can only nod, as half of her attention is strained on the closed doors, ears and eyes searching for a sign that Clark is OK. Her daughter is in there, alone, with the commander of blood and though Clarke has proved time and time again that she is able to get by on her own, she can’t shake the maternal instinct. Can’t shake the way her heart thuds quickly beneath her chest at her inability to keep Clarke in her line of sight. It thuds at the knowledge that her daughter is in a room with a warrior who has been trained to kill without regard for most of her life, and has done so with ease as long as she’s known her. Thuds hard against her sternum because she doesn’t understand why Clarke so determinedly and silently slipped from her side to push through those double doors without hesitation. As if she belonged there.

“She’s fine,” Marcus mutters beside her, his hand encircling her wrist and giving a gentle squeeze. She appreciates it, but it’s far too little a gesture to sooth her racing heart when she hears a thud and her daughter’s voice gasping out desperately. She can’t make it out exactly. Just that it is pleading and tight, breathy. She panics. Takes a step forward. The guards outside the doors tense and match the woman’s advance. For a second no one moves again, but everyone wants to. Abby is alive, crawling, steaming, fighting. She wants in, wants her daughter back in her sight. She’s ready to pounce, muscles aching, straining. She can practically feel Marcus’ sharp, weary breaths behind her. She’s unsure of whether his motivations are to join her or prevent her. It doesn’t matter when the desperate plea comes again. This time louder. Unmistakable. 

 “ _Lexa.”_

Abby is ready to race in there, ready to run through the guards’ spears if she has to because clearly her daughter is in trouble, clearly she is in danger with the commander, clearly she’s begging for her life, clearly–

 _“Fuck, Lex,”_ wafts through the doors next and the tension inside Abby shatters, leaving her crumbling in sharp, dangerous edges. She knows that tone, knows that inflection. She looks at Marcus who has a small, embarrassed smile on his face as he ducks his head to the floor. _“_ She’s fine, Abby,” he mutters again, that small smile growing ever so slightly. 

Minutes later, Clarke marches out with her cheeks flush, chin slightly raised, eyes avoiding contact of any kind except with the guards who nod and take up their place by her side as they continue wordlessly to the throne room. Abby glares. She glares so intensely at the ruffled clothes on her daughters back that surely Clarke must feel her mother’s disapproval searing into her skin. If she does, she doesn’t turn, doesn’t say anything, just keeps walking. This will not go on, she assures herself. The war has just ended, sky people and grounders alike falling in bloody, unrelenting masses, leaders shook and the weak ones crumbled. The aftermath cacophony of nightmares ring throughout Arkadia, and Polis she can assume, muted by desperate faces pressed into damp pillows. It was natural to need connection. Natural to seek comfort in warm skin and distracting touches. That’s all that was, between her daughter and the commander. Physical, carnal, a diversion for restless, traumatized minds. She hated that it was the commander, hated the thought of someone she distrusted so adamantly having such intimate knowledge of her daughter, her vulnerabilities, god forbid, her feelings. But it would be fleeting, shallow, nothing. 

**2.**

She argues unashamedly with the commander as they all sit around a long wooden table discussing the terms of Skaikru’s reinitiating into the coalition before the rest of the ambassadors arrive.  Clarke had received word by messenger from the commander as soon as Pike was dead– his injustices served, _jus drein no jus daun_  reinstated– that Skaikru’s leaders were invited to a small, private meeting with the Heda in order to make some initial arrangements before the commotion of a meeting with all the ambassadors. Clarke had urged her to accept, promised her that a great honor was being bestowed upon them. It now made sense as to why Clarke had then forcefully invited herself to come alongside she and Kane after the decision to accept had reluctantly been made. 

It makes her blood boil now, the anger seeping into a reckless confidence and sharp tongue. She has never been afraid of the leader who is just a child in her mind, but she had been respectful. Mostly for Kane. But now, with the events of earlier that day, the renewed anger that boiled inside her again fueled a bravado no one was entirely sure how to handle.

“Skaikru does not accept terms that require it to be so dependent on _your_ whims, _commander,”_ she seethed, eyes staring down Lexa, but not missing the way Clarke glared at her from just to her left. The tension was suffocating, but Abby only pushed harder. “The other clans have territories of their own, with boundaries and laws. It is only fair that Skaikru have protected lands as well. If we are forced to rely on the permission of other clans to hunt in their lands, we may find ourselves being turned away, starving before we know it!” 

“Lexa would never let that happen!” Clarke interjects before the commander can even process the counter argument. 

“We don’t know _what_ she would let happen, Clarke. She will say anything to get what she wants, even, no _especially_ at the expense of our people. _Your_ people, Clarke. She has done it once, she will do it again.” 

Lexa’s stoic, calm veneer never tarnishes as she takes the verbal assault. It’s unnerving, but Abby does not waver. 

“Mom, tell me something. Are you alive?” Clarke asks, her face blank, but her cheeks flushed in the unmistakable way that tells Abby her daughter is simmering, just below the surface, just barely containing the venomous wrath she cannot say she gets from her father. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“Are. you. alive?” 

“Clarke, what kind of question is that?” 

Clarke shakes, burns with anger that is no longer below the surface. Her seat lurches back as she stands and points to Lexa. “You are alive, because of her! Because of Lexa! She installed a blockade until Pike could be taken care of because she wants peace! She could have killed you, killed all of you for what happened to the peace army! You are alive, _Skaikru_ is alive _because_ she kept her word! Mom–”

“Sit down, Clarke,” Abby warns, her eyes like fire to her daughter’s ice. 

Clarke opens her mouth to protest, tenses, ready to brawl, but a calm and quiet, a firm “Clarke,” steadies her. 

All eyes flick to the Commander, curiously, cautiously, confusedly, whose gaze remain fixed on Clarke. A slight nod of brown hair and green eyes brings the sky girl to her chair and the violence in the air settles. 

It startles Abby. She is not blind to the way Lexa was able to do what she has not been able to do for years now. Clarke beside her, subdued, receptive, wild yet present. Tame. 

“Abby kom Skaikru, your concerns are valid. I would be pleased to hear your suggestions as to an alternative trade agreement. Your needs are my own now. Your people, my people. I will do whatever I can to ensure your prosperity.” 

She feels her daughter shift beside her, hears her clear her throat, senses the way Clarke’s body pulls towards the commander. She want to turn and look, to study this new Clarke, but she doesn’t. Her eyes are glued to the Heda and her words. She wants to think it is sarcasm. Wants to think this commander who now has some kind of untraversed stake over her daughter is goading her. Provoking her. But when she looks at the girl across from her, earth green eyes hidden behind charcoal and war, she knows there is no malice there. 

It worries her more than if there were. 

**3.**

She hates being in Polis. She hates the humanity that lives within its walls. Hates the way these people are vast, colorful, passionate and complex. She squirms at the way she finds Clarke by Lexa’s side more often than not. Hates the way that hallways of the tower echo so that when Clarke’s bare feet pass her room in the night, she hears it long after the door to the commander’s room has opened and closed. 

She wants to ignore it all. Ignore the way the ambassadors had bowed to Lexa when the commander decreed that Skaikru was to be accepted and protected under the highest law granted to all of them. Ignore the way Lexa bowed her head to their small party, slowly and with respect. Wanted to ignore the way it was growing harder to hate them. Hate her. 

Her relief came one night in the flickering of torches, the grunts and murmurs of the gathered crowd. It came in the whistle of the whip the grounder commander slashed through the air. It came in the yelps of the man tied to the poll. This was what she was waiting for. This was who these people were. Violent, unforgiving, untrustworthy. 

“What’s going on?” She hissed the question to no one in particular as soon as she and Marcus reached the quickly growing crowd. 

“The commander punishes a traitor.” It was Indra who spoke and Abby felt safe next to the powerful warrior knowing that she had some affinity for Kane. “It was your daughter’s to take, but she refused, so the commander must do it for her. 

“Clarke’s? Why?” 

“She was attacked by this man. Not all Trikru have as much confidence as Heda does that Skaikru will not massacre again.” 

Abby bristles at the inherent accusation. She wants to throw it back in the warriors face. Want to ask her how Skaikru is supposed to trust grown men who attack girls in the street. Supposed to trust a people who publicly lash members of their own against a pole. Something doesn’t let her. 

She feels that maternal instinct rear full force inside of her when a flash of gold and blue catches her eyes near the pole. She lurches when Clarke crosses the encircled space and places her hand on the commander’s back. The commander stills, bows her head to listen to her daughter’s whispers on tiptoes, pressed to her attentive ear. It’s starkly intimate, soft, against the brutality of its context. She watches the commander nod, hand the whip to a waiting guard and untie the man. Watches as he is carried away. Watches, startled, as Clarke turns from watching the man be carried away back to the commander and wipes at her eyes. She chides herself for not having noticed her daughter’s tears sooner. She remains as the crowd dissipates and looks on at the way the commander changes, morphs into a gentle creature who wipe’s at her daughter’s eyes, gives her hand a gentle squeeze, dips and nods against Clarke’s murmuring lips. 

She’s still staring when the commander makes her way over to the waiting mother, daughter in tow, bows her head in greeting and looks at her with something Abby doesn’t want to place. 

“I am sorry you had to see that, Abby,” the commander says to her and Abby wants to accuse, wants to rear back and fight. But it’s guilt and sorrow in those green eyes that she tries not to recognize.  “Clarke will never be threatened again. You have my word.” 

She’s getting tired. Tired of hating, tired of distrusting. She nods at the commander’s words and steps up to her daughter, bringing those tear stained cheeks into her hands. They don’t say anything. Don’t have to. The silent question, _are you ok?_ and the _yes_ passes between them with a furrowed brow and a small nod. Perhaps she does still know her daughter. Or perhaps she is just starting to relearn her. 

When the commander bids them goodnight and holds out her arm, she hesitates. She stares at it, her fingers twitch to take it, but she waits and it is Kane who reaches across her and makes the gesture. Firmly, confidently, naturally. It’s much the same way Clarke takes the commander’s hand after bidding them goodnight and leaves with the grounder. They’ve gone a way’s away when she sees it happen. She wonders if Clarke thinks the gesture will be hidden in the shadows. Wonders if maybe she doesn’t care. 

**4.**

“You look tired.” It’s the first thing she’s able to muster as she sits silently with Clarke, the two of them picking at their breakfast. She can tell Clarke feels uneasy in Arkadia. Can sense the way she itches to get back to the grounder capital. 

“I’m fine.” 

She chews and studies, sips, repeats. “Are you getting enough sleep over there?” It’s an innocent enough question, but she flushes anyways because she can still hear the padding of her daughter’s feet echoing through the halls of Polis. Can still hear that desperate plea from that first day. And Clarke is just a child, _her_ child, after all. It all seems just a little too grown-up. Then again, nothing about her care-free, blonde-haired, blue-eyed cutie pie skipping through the halls of the Ark is the same anymore. It didn’t take the ground to do that. Clarke was always a free spirit, independent, wise beyond her years. 

She smiles at the thought. It falters when she returns her gaze back to her daughter and sees a lifetime of a warrior on her face. She’s always been an old soul, but now she just looks worn. 

“Are you happy?” She tries again. 

Clarke doesn’t say much on these visits. She draws a lot, she’s noticed. She sits in low branches of tress and stares at the stars. She wonders if Clarke thinks of Jake when she does so. Abby can’t look at the stars anymore. 

Clarke’s fork tinkers against her plate, scooping at the fresh berries. “I am.” 

It comes so long after the question that it takes her a moment to understand. “Sleeping enough? Or…happy?” 

She’s rewarded with a small smile, but she has yet to see those big eyes rise from her plate. 

“Both.” 

“Ok.” 

When her daughter finally looks up, it stuns her. Have her eyes always been that blue?  

“And you’re fine with this?” 

“With what, honey?” 

“My living arrangements?” 

It’s more than Clarke has ever said on any of these visits. She laps it up eagerly and tries to think of what to say to keep the words coming. 

“I–if you’re happy…” 

“I am.” 

“Ok.” 

**5.**

When she arrives, three guards rush her through the gates and across the grounds, into the tower, up the elevator and past huddles of concerned hand maidens. 

When the door swings open, she can’t see Clarke on the bed. A certain grounder commander leans over her, dabbing her head with a damp cloth, her imposing and fretting figure superimposed over the girl. 

“Abby–”

The smallness of the voice frightens her. She’s afraid of what the earnestness in the commander’s voice may mean for Clarke. For her. 

“Let me see,” is all she can manage. 

When the commander steps away and reveals her daughter, she falters in her quick strides towards the bed. Clarke is pale, too pale, and miserably coated in a sheen of sweat. 

She spares a quick glance away from that pale face to watch the commander wrestle her hand out of Clarke’s to give the doctor and mother more room. The way her daughter whimpers at the loss, fingers weakly stretching to regain the contact, the sound of her weak voice calling out. “Lexa–” 

“I’m here, Clarke. I’m here. Your mother has arrived. You’re ok, niron.” 

Abby tries not to feel intrusive. She moves to the other side of the bed giving the commander her place back. The strength with which Clarke re-grips Lexa’s hand gives the doctor hope. 

“She’s hot. And shakes at night.” 

It takes Abby a moment to realize the commander is talking to her. She raises her eyes and thinks she must be looking in a mirror. The concern and protectiveness there so perfectly synced to what she is feeling. Except the eyes she stares into are green as opposed to her brown. 

“Yes. She has a fever.” The answer is automatic, years of training and occupation on the ark allowing her lips to move when her mind is frozen with too many thoughts. 

“Nyko, our best healer, has been giving her leaves. It seemed to help for a little while. When it stopped, I sent for you immediately. She whimpers in her sleep. I–” 

She waits patiently for the commander to work through the visible knot in her throat. 

“I can’t bare to hear those sounds.” And the girl’s head bows in such a way that is so reminiscent of something she used to know, a young girl with blonde hair and blue eyes skipping through the halls of a space station, her heart aches. 

“She will be, OK, Lexa. Thank you for sending for me.” 

Lexa doesn’t leave the room or move an inch from her daughter’s side, and a part of her wants some alone time with Clarke. She yearns for the day when she was the only woman in Clarke’s life. The hero, the comforter, the greatest love. 

The commander runs her hand over her daughter’s hair in gentle pettings, her daughter’s furrowed brow seeming to relax with each stroke. 

 _As long as she’s happy._ It still feels a little bitter in her mouth. She swallows anways.

 

**And the one time, she doesn’t…**

**1.**

She thinks her daughter has never looked more beautiful. Sitting in this field of wheat that matches her hair, under a sky that compliments her eyes. Her profile is sharp, trim. She realizes her daughter has lost weight. She looks good, healthy, fit. 

She could admire her like this for ages, just taking in all the curves and dips she had kissed and lullabied to sleep for so long, a lifetime ago. Curves and dips she thought she’d never remember after the ground, always invisible under caked layers of dirt and blood.

“Clarke.” 

She watches her daughter reluctantly pull her attention away from Lexa, knee deep in the lake just feet away. Bending, lunging, laughing with grounders and sky people, teaching them to fish. 

“You like her.” 

Clarke’s eyes put the sky to shame, she decides. 

“I love her.” 

She hums. She knows. She’s known for a while, she thinks. “You love her.” She’s nodding, processing, smiling. That surprises her, though it also doesn’t. 

_As long as you’re happy._

“Yes.” Clarke says it firmly, but then more child-like, she shifts towards her mother. “And you?” 

Abby turns to the lake, watching as Lexa claps Bellamy on the back, raising his hand above his head like a champion, his hand clasped around a fish. The small group hoops and hollers, all smiles and loose bodies. Her eyes flick to Raven perched happily on Octavia’s back, pointing at Bellamy. The commander let’s the man’s arm fall to his waist, her eyes beaming, smiling, more of a smirk, almost smug. 

No, _proud_ , Abby realizes. 

She relents. Her lungs emptying and refilling with the deep, hearty earth smells. “She’s lovely, Clarke.” 


	16. Mechanic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mechanic Clarke /FSLexa

Clarke had forgotten how much she loved this feeling–her shirt sticking to her back in the summer humidity, the breeze licking through to sooth, her arms elbow deep in a beautiful engine, fingers coated in a smooth, high-quality black grease. 

She bobs to the music that plays on her old radio perched on a ladder nearby, pausing occasionally to give it her all on a particular line of the chorus. She hums and coos to the engine when she finds what makes it tick, nimble hands straining and tinkering against metal and wires. 

She’s singing again, getting her hips into it whens she hears a chuckle behind her. It startles her, but she’s worked under enough hoods for enough of her life to stop herself from jerking upwards and smacking her head. Her head hangs between her shoulders and she smiles.

“How about you go back outside, come back in and pretend you didn’t see any of that?” She’s feeling playful because of the warm weather and the fact that she’s in a garage, actually working, for the first time in over a year. 

“And miss watching a beautiful girl, swaying and singing under the hood of my car? Now, why on earth would I do that?” 

Clarke flushes and turns slowly, wiping her hands on her loose overalls. She gapes when she sees the woman in front of her. It’s not because of her tailored, charcoal grey suit pants that hug long, tone thighs so nicely, or even the crisp, white button up that accentuates broad shoulders. It’s because–

“Alexandria Woods?” 

The woman smiles, just perceptibly, more with her eyes, and nods. “Just Lexa. So, you know me then?” 

Clarke shrugs. “Who doesn’t? You’re all over town.” 

The woman chuckles and Clarke’s stomach does something _interesting_ when the woman grins to the floor. “For the record, those billboards weren’t my idea. My PR guys is new…eager.” 

They pause, staring, not-staring, blushing, smiling softly under eye lashes and ducked heads. 

“And you are? Raven normally works on her,” the woman gestures to her McLaren. 

“I’m certainly not Raven,” Clarke teases, unsure of where this is all coming from. Maybe it’s those green eyes, or that tall stature, or those big hands complimented by that big watch. She smiles. 

“Well, not-Raven, I assume you’ve taken good care of her in Ms. Reyes’ stead?” 

“The best,” Clarke nods, finally taking a step forward towards the woman. The air between them sparks and Clarke can almost roll her eyes at how ridiculous it seems. This immediate attraction. It belongs to romance novels. “She’s beautiful.” 

Lexa hums and holds back the quip that would be so easy to throw out. _You’re beautiful._ It’d be true, and smooth, but something stops her. And it’s ok, because she thinks the blonde may see it in her eyes anyways. 

“She’s not quite done.” 

“I figured. I was on my way home, I just came to check-in.” 

“Worried mom?” 

Lexa chuckles and nods. “She’s my favorite.” 

“Ms. Woods, hasn’t anyone ever told you you’re not supposed to choose favorites?” 

Seattle’s youngest CEO of a fortune five-hundred company shrugs and passes the blonde to run a hand over her car. “She’s unmatched.” 

Clarke can’t help but agree. “I may just have to kick Raven off the job completely.” 

Lexa rests back against the driver door, her arms and ankles crossed. Lazy, but commanding in the space around her. “Where is Ms. Reyes?” 

“Out sick.” 

“And you’re her…?” 

Clarke smiles, not at all missing the fact that the woman was still digging. “Boss,” she finally gives. 

“You must be a Griffin, then, not-Raven.” 

“You got me.” She extends her hand, then retracts it remembering the grease stains. She’s surprised when the woman catches it before she can lower it anyways and shakes. She doesn’t mean to bite her lip, but when it happens she can’t make herself stop. “Clarke. Clarke Griffin.” 

“So you’re _the_ Griffen.” Lexa quirks a brow and smirks. She’s intrigued, undeniably so, and verging on screwed. She chuckles. How many times has she chuckled today? She’s not a chuckler. She shakes the thought from her mind. “I’ve been letting the wrong mechanic work on my car all this time, then. I’ve been taking her to CG’s Garage for a year now, and I could have had the owner this whole time. I’m usually pretty good at getting the best.” 

Clarke shakes her head, charmed and flustered, but also well-aware of this kind of routine. It’s dangerous, hot. She loves it. “Raven is the best. I don’t work in the garage anymore. Owning one takes up all my time. I’m a glorified pencil pusher now.” 

“Why? You love it. The cars. That’s obvious.” 

Clarke avoids the answer. How can she tell a stranger that she was forced to give up her passion because her father died unexpectedly in the night leaving her his garage and a lot of bills? How can she tell her she'd immediately changed the name from "Jake's Garage" to "CG's Garage" because she couldn't bare to walk into it everyday without the change? She wipes at her forehead with a grease stained towel and rolls her eyes when she feels it smear the black substance on her forehead. Lexa lets out a hearty laugh and the sound makes her bite that lip again. 

“Almost ten years I’ve been doing this, and I still forget not to do that.” She stands and walks over to a nearby mirror on the wall. She peers into it and chuckles at her greased complexion. “Lovely.” When she turns, the CEO is much too close. She smells like her father, a rich, musky cologne that smells like warmth and safety, like fireflies in a jar on a summer night, light strong arms wrapped around her after a nightmare.  Her insides quake and she grounds her jaw in the way she has learned is the most efficient at keeping her tears at bay. It’s been just over a year now since that night, but it still hurts. God, does it hurt.

“Clarke?” 

Clarke hadn’t realized her eyes had been closed until they fly open at her name. She blushes in embarrassment and turns quickly, busying herself with the many car parts littered on a nearby table.  “I’m sorry, you just–you remind me of someone.” 

“A good someone?” 

The CEO steps into her space again and Clarke wishes she’d let her breathe. Then again, the burn in her chest is nice. It’s new, finally feeling something, anything, and it’s hopeful. Promising. She smiles. “The best someone.” 

Lexa isn’t shy. Never has been, especially around pretty woman. But she surprises even herself when she places her hand over Clarke’s  and stills the mindless tinkering. She gets those blue eyes looking up at her, just as she had hoped, but now she’s stuck. Not sure of what she wanted after those eyes. 

“Do you wanna get dinner sometime?” It blurts out of Clarke so unexpectedly, her eyes are widening before the sound stops.

Not coffee, not lunch, _dinner._ Lexa’s glad they’re on the same page and smiles, because now she knows what she had wanted after those blue eyes. “I would, yes. Tonight?” 

Clarke relaxes and chuckles a breathy sound that is mostly a sigh. “Eager.” 

“Yes, well.”

The CEO’s hands go into her pockets and Clarke decides she very much likes the look. “I think I can make tonight work.” 


	17. Candles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Clarke giving a massage to Lexa and accidentally drops the wax on her back. Clarke: I'm sorry, Lexa. Lexa: not to me

“God, Lex, you’re so tight.” Clarke pushes her fingers into the silky skin, eliciting a deep moan from the commander beneath her.

“Feel good?”

Lexa nods and shifts under Clarke’s touch, adjusting the angle.

Clarke speeds up her ministrations and leans down to press a gentle kiss onto Lexa’s neck. Lexa lets out a soft whine and turns her head allowing Clarke to capture the tail end of the sound from her mouth.

“I love that sound,” Clarke whispers once she’s managed to tear herself away from Lexa’s pillowy lips.

Suddenly, the commander yelps and jerks away. The blonde chuckles and sits back into the curve of Lexa’s lower back.

“Too much?”

Lexa grumbles and presses her face into the bed, trying to squirm away from the mischievous blonde on top of her.

“Uh uh, I’m not done.” Clarke digs her elbow into the stiff swath of muscles under Lexa’s right shoulder blade and is rewarded with a low, gravely moan. “Right there, huh?”

Lexa nods reluctantly.

“Yeah, it’s really tight. You’ve been sparring too much, lately.”

“Not possible.”

Clarke digs into the bundle of knots over the back of Lexa ribs causing a mighty yelp from the normally very reserved commander. She chuckles and can practically feel Lexa’s glare all the way in her back. “You sure about that, commander?”

“Clarke.” It’s a warning lacking in any kind of malice or power.

“Alright, alright, I’ll play nice. But I want to check out these gashes first. What were you thinking letting Aden spar with real swords?”

Lexa shifts her hands under her chin and turns her head to the side, shrugging. “He needs to learn the weight of them. Staffs and wooden swords are not the same. He is now old enough to go into battle, so he must know what it feels like to wield a real sword.”

“There’s no need. We have peace.”

“There is always possibility for–”

“No!” Clarke snaps, a little too quickly, a little too loudly. “We have peace, Lexa. No more battles.”

Lexa reaches behind her, finding Clarke’s hand,and gives it a gentle squeeze. “You’re right, niron,” she soothes.

Clarke nods, which Lexa can’t see but it was more for herself than for anyone else anyways. She reaches over to a candle stand and plucks the candle off of it, using it to inspect the commander’s back in the low light of their bedroom. She walks her fingers along Lexa’s fresh sparring wounds and grimaces. “These are deep, Lexa. Niko should have stitched them.”

“I have not been to the healers tent yet, ai hodnes.”

“ _Lexa_ ,” Clarke groans.

“I missed you. I came straight here.”

Clarke bites at the smile that immediately blooms on her lips. She had quickly come to learn that Lexa was quite the charmer and could sweet talk her way out of most trouble when it came to Clarke, but no matter how often she did it, it always managed to bring about the same shy smile. 

She sighs and runs an exploring finger down Lexa’s knobby spine, grinning at the goosebumps that pebble up in her wake.

“Do they hurt?”

“No.”

“Lex.”

Lexa squirms until the warm thighs straddling her hips loosen enough to allow her to flip over. She smiles when she meets Clarke’s gaze. “See? No pain.”

Clarke shakes her head, lovingly exasperated. She shivers when Lexa’s hands go to her thighs, rubbing circles into the soft, pliant skin there with her thumbs. She lets her head fall back slightly as she hums. “That’s nice,” she mutters.

She gets lost in the feeling, her shoulders drooping, limbs leadening as she becomes pliant and puddling under Lexa’s calloused, but gentle fingers. But then, she’s snapped out of the bliss with a hiss that did not come from her.

Her head jerks down to find Lexa’s eyes wide, her tan chest covered in hot, white wax from where Clarke’s hand had tipped in her relaxation.

“Oh my god, baby,” her hands fly to the skin and begins wiping away at the wax, “I’m so sorry. Does it burn? I’m so–”

Lexa wraps her hands around Clarke’s wrists, stopping her. “Clarke–”

When Clarke looks up and meets Lexa’s gaze, she swallows hard. The green is almost entirely absent behind alert and dilated pupils. That’s when Clarke notices just how heavily Lexa is breathing, the commander’s chest rising and falling hard under her hand.

She falters, eyes searching Lexa’s face, honing in on Lexa’s softly parted lips. “Do you–”

Lexa swallows. Clarke cocks her head in curiosity and tips the candle. Her eyes remain glued to her lover’s as the wax hits her skin.

Lexa’s eyes fly shut as quickly as her teeth dig into her bottom lip, a mewing whine escaping to tickle at Clarke’s ears.

“You like that?”

Lexa’s nostrils flare as she nods.

Clarke swells, her mind immediately flying to places that would make even stoic Indra blush. She tips the candle again, closer to Lexa’s breast this time, and is entranced in pleasure when Lexa arches off the bed as Clarke draws the hot wax across Lexa’s nipple with her thumb.

“Oh god,” she hisses when Lexa keens, her pelvis pressing up between her legs. She presses her hand down into Lexa’s hard, flat stomach. “Don’t do that.” She grits her teeth, clenching against the climax she can already feel bubbling just below the surface. In all of her sexual encounters, only Lexa had had this effect on her. Only Lexa could get her this close this quickly with no touch.

With a devilish smile, Lexa completely ignores her and jogs her hips up into Clarke, enjoying the sensation even more when the jostling causes Clarke’s hand to tip again.

Lexa moans with abandon and Clarke erupts in goosebumps, her connection with Lexa making it almost impossible, unbearable, to handle these new sensations. She needs to be closer, touching, together.

Lexa whines when Clarke sets the candle aside, but is silenced when Clarke takes Lexa’s hands and slips it into her underwear. “ _Please_ ,” Clarke groans. When Lexa immediately parts her folds and rubs a finger along her slick slit, Clarke gasps and collapses against Lexa’s chest, her own breasts experiencing the dissipating heat of the wax and oh god. That _is_ nice.

“Clarke?”

Clarke can only manage a hum.

“I like candles,” Lexa mutters.

Clarke can’t help but chuckle. “I know you do, Lexa.”

“Clarke?”

“Yes, Lexa?”

“I like you too.”

Clarke smiles and kisses her. “I’m glad, love. I like you too.”

“And I like this,” Lexa teases, her fingers pressing into Clarke’s clit in little circles.

Clarke moans and nuzzles her head into Lexa’s neck, lips parted by hot, wet breathing. And yeah, she thinks, she likes that too.


	18. Lap Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clexa prompt: Clarke giving Lexa a lap dance

She knew Lexa would be mad. And if she was being totally honest, she couldn’t blame her. Had Lexa sneaked off into the woods in the early morning before the rest of the capitol had awaken, no guards, and just a knife for defense, she would have been furious too. 

But, as happy as she is with the peace and calm, she gets antsy. There used to be a constant buzzing in her, a state of perpetual alertness that had once defined her existence on the ground. She had grown accustomed to it, grown to trust it and use it to anticipate when she would need to run, or fight, or scream, or kill. It became a sort of companion in the violent and unpredictable world.

But now, with no need for it, that pent up adrenaline stalks around inside or her, waiting, clawing at her insides, It making her skin ache and her mind roam. It’s that clawing restlessness that brings her to the edge of the forest surrounded by the early morning fog. Going out alone is careless and self-destructive, she knows that. But sometimes she just can’t bring herself to care. She feels happy, most of the time, but there is a numbness that pervades her experiences and makes her want to crawl out of her aching skin, so sometimes she just needs to remind herself what it feels like to be afraid. It’s not ideal, but it’s familiar, and at least it means she’s alive. It’s all she had known for so long, after all.

 

So yeah, when Lexa comes storming into their room hours later upon her return, she can’t say she’s entirely surprised. She sighs under Lexa’s hard glare, but what she’d found on her unannounced outing made it all worth it. She’s pretty sure Lexa will agree. “Before you yell, I–” 

“What were you _thinking_?!” 

Or not. Clarke rolls her eyes and settles onto the bed, hunkering down for what she knows is going to be a long lecture. 

“Just because there is peace now does not mean that it is safe to go galavanting through the forest with no guards, no weapons–” 

“I had my knife,” Clarke interjects. 

The fury that licks into Lexa’s eyes is almost humorous in its ferocity. Lexa had never been good at lightening up. Not that running a coalition built on the entirely new principle of _jus drein no jus daun_ (which many of the ambassadors were wary of) gave her reason to. 

“ _Clarke.”_

“ _Lexa.”_

The exaggerated huff that issues out of the commander only makes Clarke chuckle. Rising to her feet, she pads over to the woman and wraps her hands around her hips, swaying her side to side as she does so. She knows the lighthearted movement had worked the way she’d wanted it to when the corner of Lexa’s lip quirks slightly before recovering back to neutral. 

“I’m sorry I scared you.” Clarke presses their foreheads together and inhales deeply, reveling in the instantaneous calm that seeps through her system at the smell of Lexa’s warm skin. 

“I was not scared, Clarke. Simply, worried.” Lexa lifts her chin, but Clarke can see right through her. She smiles, and lets the commander have it. 

“Ok. Well. I’m sorry I worried you. I just needed to be by myself for a little bit.” 

Lexa nods against Clarke’s forehead, knowing that she was not the only one who sometimes had trouble adjusting to their new, quiet way of life. They stand together, enjoying each other’s company in the middle of their room, barefoot and soft. It’s almost domestic, Clarke thinks. It makes her smile. 

“Can I show you something?” 

The way Clarke’s once sweet smile turns wicked in the flash of a second makes Lexa’s head spin, but she’s used to it by now, so she nods and let’s Clarke leave their embrace, only slightly discomforted by having to let Clarke go. She’s getting better at it, she tells her self. One step at a time. 

Her unease dissipates when Clarke returns to her with something small and square in her hands. 

“Do you know what this is?” 

Lexa shakes her head. 

“It’s a music player. We had them on the Ark.” 

“How does something like _that_ make music? How do you play it?” 

It takes Clarke a moment to realize that Lexa thinks it’s an instrument of some kind. Of course she would, though. All the grounder commander knows of music is that it is made with drums and flutes chiseled out of wood.

“You don’t actually have to play it,” she explains with child-like excitement that makes Lexa’s stomach flip. Clarke’s eyes sparkle when she’s excited and it often makes the commander entirely unsure of how to handle the fluttering it causes in her body.  “The music is inside it.” 

“Inside?” 

Clarke nods quickly and raises the earbuds that have somehow miraculously remained attached to the device and offers one to Lexa. “Put this in your ear.” 

The disbelief and utter skepticism that crosses Lexa’s face has Clarke letting out a bark of laughter that takes them both by surprise. It had been a while since Clarke had released such a glorious sound and it’s almost enough to bring tears to Lexa’s eyes. She often worries about Clarke’s happiness. She notices the way Clarke’s eyes go cloudy and unfocused some days. The way Clarke withdraws into herself and flinches when people appear behind her or touch her without warning. She paces nervously when Clarke disappears for long stretches of time with no notice and bites her tongue when she returns looking slightly less tense. 

But all that matters is that Clarke is here, now, laughing and looking at Lexa like she’s all she’s ever needed and wanted, so the commander clears her throat and takes the earbud between her fingers. She squishes the bud and frowns at it, unsure of how it works. As if reading her mind, Clarke raises her own bud to her ear and slowly sticks it in. 

Copying her movement, Lexa inserts the bud and smiles as she watches Clarke fiddle with the device. 

She gasps when she hears a sudden clicking in her ears. Her eyes widen and Clarke smiles without looking up. She knows without needing to look that Lexa’s mind is being blown. So is hers, if she’s being quite honest. She almost couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard music in this way. 

As the Lexa waits, Clarke scrolls through the playlists looking for titles that look familiar, but the Ark’s archives had only had what were deemed “the classics” to download from, so she doesn’t recognize any of these. She decides to go with her gut and choose the title that makes her chuckle. “Please Excuse My Hands.” 

Her lip pulls into her mouth in expectation as her finger hovers over the play button. “Ready?” 

Lexa nods. 

As the music floods into the earbud, she watches Lexa the way a scientist might study a rare and beautiful creature for the first time. Lexa is gorgeous. Always has been, but there is something about Lexa in this moment that is incredibly breathtaking to Clarke. She smiles at the way Lexa’s eyes widen, the way her brow rises and falls, her jaw clenching and unclenching, head cocking to the side, analyzing. She loves the way Lexa’s thinking is so transparent on her face when her brain is in overdrive. It’s similar to the way she pours over maps and trade agreements. It makes Clarke’s heart swell in a way she sometimes fears she’s incapable of anymore. But it’s Lexa, so of course she is. She can’t help it when she lurches forward and presses their lips together. She melts and hums when Lexa’s hand catches the small of her back and curls there, scratching and soothing. 

When Lexa’s teeth scrape across her bottom lip, Clarke is pushing Lexa backwards with a palm flat on her stomach until the back of the commander’s knees hit a chair and they fall into it, chuckling with their lips still attached. Clarke has to readjust their earbuds, but she’s not sure either of them is really listening anymore when Lexa’s shifts under her and their pelvises rock together sending a jolt through Clarke that she feels from the nape of neck to the apex of her legs. 

In time with the music, Clarke tentatively grinds against Lexa’s stomach and grows in confidence when Lexa’s fingers dig into her hips encouragingly. She closes her eyes and sways, her body dipping and swaying in waves as the music overtakes her senses and dictates her movements. 

Lexa’s hands sneak under her shirt and skirt up her ribs, teasing the taught skin there until Clark’s head is sagging backwards offering her purring neck up to the attentive commander who takes it greedily between gentle teeth and roaming lips. 

Clarke’s somewhat taken by surprise when she feels her clit twitch against Lexa’s stomach after some time. They’re both wearing relatively thick layers in the form of jeans, but if her body is there, so be it. It’s not like Lexa hasn’t worked her up wearing more and in less time before.  She decides not to question it because it’s Lexa and they’re listening to _music_ and for the first time in a while Clarke actually feels something, and it’s not her settling for the familiarity of fear. No, it’s something much better. Something alive, something fiery and passionate, something that ignites her insides and makes her want to be present and alive, here, with Lexa.

She doesn’t even try to restrain the moan that erupts up her throat and trickles out of her lips. She smiles when Lexa’s head whips away from her neck and laps greedily at the sound. Lexa always had been a sucker for sound, so she really shouldn’t be surprised that the music is having this effect on the commander, but when Lexa’s hand dips beneath the waistband of her pants, she gasps. But only for a moment. She quickly hums in approval when Lexa hesitates, waiting for consent, and rocks into the hand, enjoying the new friction when Lexa takes the consent and grounds the heel of her palm into her. 

Neither hear the song end, not when Clarke is panting and whimpering into Lexa’s ear, begging her to keep going. Not when Lexa pushes knuckle deep into her and Clarke cries out, shuttering and clenching as her face buries into Lexa’s neck. Not when Clarke pulls back and Lexa rubs her thumb through the track of tears on Clarke’s cheek. Not when they meet for a tender kiss that says, _we’re alive,_ andnot when Lexa wraps her arms under Clarke’s legs and stands, the musical device long forgotten when it clatters to the floor. Not when she carries them over to the bed and settles them into the furs. Not when Lexa settles on top of Clarke, a soft “Ai hod yu in,” proceeding the way she leans in and kisses away the remainder of tears that dot Clarke’s eyes. 

And yeah, Clarke thinks that even Lexa’s earlier fury could not make her regret the early morning adventure that led her to such a discovery. As Lexa kisses her way down her stomach, she makes a mental note to bring the device to Raven and have her make sure it never loses its charge. 

 

 


	19. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: major character death  
> TW: depression
> 
> This is a sad story, and needs to be read with caution. It has a hopeful ending, but it's sad, so read at your own discreation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A dream I had and needed to write out. It's in headcannon form, just fyi.

Years after Pike and ALIE and Ontari, there is peace and stillness and time for things like love and children and lazy mornings spent in bed with bare skin and breathy moans and whispered promises of eternity. 

Lexa can’t imagine her life differently now. With the love of her life and their small child by her side, nothing seems to phase her. The coalition is strong and joy of her people abounds. She spends the days and evenings strolling through polis, her hands clasped with Clarke and their child, her ears full of festive music and her heart aching with contentment. Her girls swirl and dance around her, their smiles filing the air for hours until it is time for bed, and then Clarke’s voice lulls them all to sleep. It is beautiful, and dream-like. Surreal. But all is well. 

She finds Clarke and their daughter in the woods sometimes, Clarke showing the little girl which leaves sooth the stomach and which to crack open to cool burnt skin. She shows her which muds mix the creamiest paints and which trees burn into the best drawing kohl. And when a shadow overtakes them they look up to see Lexa staring down at them with bright eyes and a subtle smile, hand outstretched to help them off the ground. Their daughter is not yet big enough for her own horse so she eagerly takes the hand and monkies up onto her mother’s back while Lexa pretends to groan as she mounts her horse and Clarke laughs on from behind.

These are Lexa’s favorite days. When the little one is exhausted from trips into the woods with her mothers, hot sun zapping her energy so that she is a ball of sleepy sounds and wild yellow curls by the time they get back to Polis. These are the days that lead to quiet evenings and long nights with Lexa’s hands exploring Clarke’s body, drawing sweet and desperate sounds from her lips, back arching off the bed, fingers digging into furs, lips pressed to warm, wet skin, thighs shaking and breath panting. She wakes up in the middle of the night with two sets of blond waves in her face, Clarke’s whispered voice soothing the nightmares away from their child. As usual, it lulls them all back to sleep and Lexa can’t imagine anything more perfect.

 

Except then Clarke dies. Swiftly and suddenly with Abby sputtering something about immune system and ground diseases and it leaves Lexa reeling, useless, pointless. She wastes away on alcohol and wails herself to sleep at night with Clarke’s clothes pressed to her chest and shoves her head under the pillows at the sound of her young daughter’s tears. She can’t even look at her, that blonde hair and those bright blue eyes too familiar, too haunting. 

No one can say anything, just watch as their Heda mourns and grieves year after year, her footsteps slow and heavy through the market, her eyes dim, her speech harsh. Her daughter grows and plays with the other children, with one blue eye always trained on her mother. The handmaidens tell her Lexa is simply busy commanding, but that she loves her very much. The girl believes them with sad eyes because she is Clarke’s, warm, sweet, understanding, forgiving. 

 

It turns out when she bleeds, it runs thick and black over her knee where she’d fallen and she thinks it is perhaps the best thing to have happened to her. It means nightblood classes. It means time with the commander. Time with her mom. Opportunities to talk and study and connect. She longs to feel the press of Lexa’s palm against her own again the way it once had, longs to feel the way it would grow hot and sweaty with the way her mother’s grip ebbed and flowed, but never released.

Lexa doesn’t look at her much at first. Skims over her head of blonde waves and calls on the other children to answer her questions, and the girl is too old to believe the handmaidens now. Too old to ignore the way her mother’s eyes hatefully  avoid her. But in the fighting ring, she is unavoidable. In the fighting ring, she is all Lexa’s, fierce, passionate, strong, ruthless. The others pale in comparison and she fights through them in mere minutes until the only one left to challenge is Lexa. Her mother goes easy on her, she can feel that, can see the fearful restraint in her eyes and for a second she wonders if her mother really hates her so much that she would do true harm to her without the restraint there. But the notion quickly dissipates when Lexa’s staff cracks the front of her head hard due to her own misstep and the commander lurches for her, steadying her before she can fall with two warm hands pressed to her cheeks, green eyes scanning, searching. “I’m ok, nomon,” she mutters and Lexa retracts so hard the girl thinks perhaps she has grown two heads.

Lexa watches her daughter grow from the shadows, smiles softly to herself at times, wipes at her burning, watery eyes at others. She is built like Lexa, tall, lanky and strong, but her hair seems to grow more and more radiant gold with the years, sometimes blinding in the sun. She rarely catches the girl’s eyes, but she knows they are blue like the sky, like the ocean, like her mother.

Her chest puffs with pride when she catches her daughter sparring with ease and confidence Lexa recognizes from her own adolescent years and her breath catches with every hit that gets through and lands with a sickening thud on her body. But the girl gets up every time with a bright smile and rolling shoulders that scream  _warrior._

They run into each other on occasion, two striking figures striding through town, chins high, eyes fierce. In awkward shuffling and strained clearing of throats Lexa finally speaks and tells her she’s just heard that she’s been chosen as a second. The girl nods with a blush and presents the ceremonial knife every second receives upon being chosen. Lexa weighs it in her hand and brushes over the wooden handle that looks much like her own. Her fingers catch on an engraving and she flips the knife over to see a moon etched into the wood. “Clarke” and “Nomi” are said at the same time and Lexa nods through her watering eyes before handing the knife back and walking away. The girl watches her mother’s back shake ever so slightly as she disappears down the road and wonders if they will every stroll down it together again, their hands interlocked. She clenches her fist and hurls the knife into the dirt, it lands point down with a thud, but she’s already gone. Lexa finds it at a merchant’s stand days later and asks where he got it. She leaves it on her daughter’s pillow that night, the handle encircled by a turquoise beaded bracelet Clarke used to wear and the note, ‘ _dison don kom yu nomi -nomon’ ‘this was your mom’s –mother’_

 

Lexa doesn’t hear from her daughter, but she catches site of a flash of turquoise the next day when she passes a field and sees the girl sparring with a boy who looks at her in a way that makes Lexa nervous.

 

They’ve never fought before, not outwardly, but it happens when Lexa finds the same boy pressing her daughter up against a building weeks later, a bottle of alcohol dangling from his free hand. Her daughter screams at her to leave him alone, but the night ends with the boy stumbling away, his nose running red and thick down his mouth and chin.

 

“Chomouda yu don dula daun?!” _Why did you do that?!_ She screams at her and Lexa seethes.

 

“Em laik branwada!” _He is a fool!_

 

 “Yu nau seinteim ai hod! Chomouda yu don kefa?!”   _You don’t even love me! Why do you care?!”_ The words tear through Lexa and a large knot jumps to her throat. When she says nothing, the girl storms away and Lexa feels herself crumbling again.

 

She goes to her daughter’s room that night and gasps at the decorations on the walls. Sheets upon sheets of hand-drawn picture of Clarke, of Lexa, of the three of them walking hand-in-hand down the streets of Polis. Drawings of the commander in the woods on her horse, face proud and covered in warpaint. Drawings of Clarke and Abby in Arkadia’s medical bay, working side by side, laughter on their face captured by kohl.

 

Her daughter is on the bed, her face pressed into her pillow, and Lexa lurches when she notices one of Clarke’s old coats clutched in her daughter’s hand. She doesn’t try to stop the tear that leaks out, simply wipes it away and takes a steadying breath.

 

“Alexa—“ she calls out, her tongue burning around the name she’d avoided for so long. She closes her eyes and sees Clarke’s sweaty, but beaming face looking up at her with the newborn in her arms and her explanation of the name spilling out of tired lips. _Alexa, after my wife, her mother, so that I always have a piece of you no matter what._ She was the commander. She was supposed to be the one who left Clarke, who died unexpectedly leaving her wife scrambling for a piece of her to remember her by. She was supposed to be the one who never knew this pain.

 

Her daughter looks back at her with cheeks ruined by thick tears and the blue is stunning. Lexa feels herself falter, feels herself want to run and scream and fight, but she stays. She sits tentatively on the bed that used to be Clarke, Skaikru’s ambassador’s, and smiles slightly at the memory. _Reshop Heda_ rings through her ears as she places her hand on Alexa’s leg.

 

“Ai dula hod yu in, Alexa. Ai kefa koz yu ste ai yongon.” _I do love you, Alexa. I care because you are my child._

 

Her daughter looks at her with eyes full of questions that don’t need to be voiced for them to make Lexa ache. She grabs her hand and runs her thumb across the turquoise beads, her head falling slightly. “I miss her,” she sighs in a whispered confession, using Clarke’s mother tongue for the first time in what felt like ages. “I miss her every day.” Her tears hit her daughter’s wrist and she goes to wipe them away, but Alexa grabs her hand and stills it. She waits until her mother looks up at her and Lexa feels herself choking again, not knowing when her daughter had grown into quite this likeness of Clarke.

 

“I miss her too, nomon. But…I miss you more. We lost nomi, but you’re still here. Please be here with me,” and the cracking of her daughter’s voice finally does it. The night leaves them with puffy eyes and sore throats, exhausted and asleep in each others arms when the sun rises and brings with it the season’s first snow fall.

 

They walk outside together, not hand in hand, not yet, but close, their arms occasionally brushing. Lexa is distracted by Oktavia who comes to her with a question and when the former skaikru warrior leaves and Lexa turns back to the path, Alexa is gone. Lexa feels a wave of panic surge through her when she spins and finds no trace, but then something cold and wet smacks her in the back of the head. She whirls around and finds her, blonde hair coated in white, blue eyes glistening in the crisp winter air, hand slapped over her mouth in terrified amusement.

 

Lexa is dizzy with the memory of Clarke on her first snowfall, just after Pike and ALIE’s defeat, hands full of snowballs, eyes wide and smile mischievous as she chased Lexa around Polis until they were falling together, cold lips pressed to each other, laughter ringing out in the air.

 

Alexa stares at her, frozen in uncertainty, her other hand twitching in anticipation. Lexa bends slowly and scoops her fingers into the snow, eyes trained on her daughter the whole time. She molds the wet flakes into a ball and contemplates it, eyebrows twitching up as a devilish smile starts to play at the corner of her lips. With one look, Alexa reads the warning and she’s dashing off at full speed, head thrown back in a laughing squeal.

 

And despite the cold, Lexa finally feels that once golden warmth begin to fill her chest again. Then, she’s lifting her arm and releasing, a chuckle gurgling up, surprising her, when the snow connects with Alexa’s feeling form and her daughter shrieks and dives behind a tree. Alexa’s laughter joins her mother's and it rings out refreshingly, renewed, through the Polis air.  


	20. A Union

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I am in a Mamma Mia! vibe soooo... How about this prompt: Cannon-divergence, everything is alright somehow, and Clarke and Lexa are going to get united/marry. Abby is seeing all this preparation and think in her relationship with Clarke and how she saw Lexa and Clarke relationship (slipping through my fingers gave me the ideia)... And Clarke asks to Abby make her braind right before the cerimony. (Very fluff, a little bit angsy, and a happy happy happy end - think we are all need one right now)

* * *

 

Everything is stunning. From the lanterns to the white drapes to the arbors covered in flowers, the setting is straight out of a fairy tale and Clarke couldn’t be happier. Her fingers trail along the candle lit tables as she strolls through the set up, admiring the handiwork of her friends and family. She smiles and chuckles when a handmaiden tries to shoo her away, and she promises she’ll go soon. Just, not yet. 

It’s a lot to take in and when her eyes water it’s because she knows things will never quite be the same. And that’s a good thing. A beautiful, wonderful, hopeful thing. But it’s a new thing, and it makes her nervous. She wants to be good enough, wants to be happy and confident and calm. For the most part she is, but there are times when the doubt creeps in. Times like now as the world bustles along around her, all in her honor, but she can’t quite seem to ground herself in it.

Lexa is the best at quelling these feelings, even just a knowing hand pressed to the small of her back is enough to do the trick, but today, the commander is no where to be found. It’s tradition, she knows, and it’s exciting. But a part of her would give anything to stare into those steady, green eyes, just for a moment. 

It’s brown ones she sees next, though, and they’re just as welcoming. Abby’s gaze finds her from across the way and when the distance is crossed, there is nothing to stop the tears then. Her mom holds her and presses her close, her hand running through Clarke’s locks the way it used to when she was a little girl. 

“I’m happy,” Clarke promises through her tears and Abby nods. 

“I know, Clarke.” 

“I don’t want to lose you.” 

Abby takes in a shaky breath and pulls away to wipe at her own tears. “I’m right here, baby. I’m not going anywhere.” And she hopes that it’s true. She’d watched Clarke stroll into the setup, her fingers alight over every thing the way they used to explore every inch of the Ark in the sky, and from a distance she wondered when her baby had become a woman and how much longer she would need her. 

But in this moment, Clarke never looked more like her little girl than she did now, eyes wide and wet and needy. “I’ll always be right here,” she whispers and plants her hand over Clarke’s heart and when her little girl nods desperately, they both break into tears. 

 

* * *

 

It’s Raven who finds them and ushers them back inside, wiping at both of their faces with small chuckles and tears of her own. She insists that Clarke get into her dress and when Abby promises that she’ll be back, Clarke relents. Octavia joins her moments later and she’s relieved to not be alone. 

“Doing okay?” 

Clarke nods and runs her hands through her hair, wondering when it’d gotten so long and light. “Just nervous.” 

Octavia smiles and places her hands on her shoulders, steadying and sturdy. She’d always been so strong and to see her so confident and sure now, only mades Clarke’s eyes brim again. 

“You look beautiful,” she breathes and Octavia chuckles. 

“I think I’m the one who’s supposed to say that to you.” 

“I look like a mess,” Clarke sighs, a small laugh leaving her lips as she studies herself in the mirror. 

“You look like a bride. Tears and all.” 

Clarke looks up at her in the reflection and grabs the hand on her shoulder. “Were you this nervous with Lincoln?” 

“Maybe even more.” 

 

* * *

 

When Abby finds Clarke next, her daughter is crying and yelling at Miller and Murphy. A charred drape lays pathetically in her hands and her face is smudged black. The boys are apologizing profusely and when Abby sees the lantern in their hands and the broken glass at their feet she understands. 

Ushering them away, she steps towards her daughter and brings her tear stained cheeks in her hands, melting at the puffy eyes and trembling bottom lip that looks so much like her baby girl it almost hurts. 

“It’s alright, honey,” she soothes and wipes away the tears and the smudge. 

“It’s ruined.” And when Clarke holds up the burnt drape, all Abby sees is her four year old offering up her ripped stuffed animal with a whimper.  

“It’s not. It’s okay.” She takes the drape and hands it to a passing handmaiden before taking Clarke’s hand and leading her back to the tower. Clarke followers her silently until they reach a familiar door, and then she stops, questions in her wet, blue eyes. 

“Just for a moment. Don’t tell anyone.” Abby winks and knocks on the door, explaining in hushed tones to the handmaiden who opens it. 

When Lexa appears moments later, her forehead creased with worry, Abby feels and sees Clarke instantly relax, and she knows she’s done well. With a gentle hand to her daughter’s back, she walks away and forces herself to keep going. Though, she can’t quite stop from looking back once over her shoulder. 

“Hodnes, what is it?” Lexa holds Clarke’s cheeks in her hands, green eyes searching and when Abby sees her daughter fling herself into the commander’s arms and bury her face in her neck, she knows that all will be okay. 

 

* * *

 

When Clarke shows up at her room just minutes before the ceremony, panting and eyes shining, Abby thinks something must have gone terribly wrong. In her beautiful dress and ceremonial face paint, Clarke looks like a bride, but to Abby, the string of stumbling words and frantic hands are all her daughter, young and alive and perhaps just as nervous as she’d been when asking her for help before her first date. 

“Can you braid my hair?” Clarke finally manages to ask and all Abby can do is nod. 

She knows there’s a rush, but she can’t help but take her time as she brushes through that familiar, golden hair. “This used to put you to sleep,” she recalls, a sad smile on her face. 

Clarke nods and laces her fingers together with Abby’s free hand. “It feels nice.” 

“When you were born, your hair was dark brown. Your father made me check twice to make sure you were ours.” 

Clarke laughs and squeezes the hand as she watches her mother in the mirror. “When did it go blonde?” 

“It lightened over time. I remember waking up one morning and putting breakfast down on the table for you. You came bounding in and your hair caught in the light and I realized suddenly that it was gold.”

“Lexa calls me deimeika melon,” Clarke chuckles. “Sun head.” 

Abby smiles and begins separating the strands. “She’s right. You’re radiant.” 

Clarke bows her head and takes a few shaky breaths. “Don’t say things like that,” she whispers. “I’ll cry again.” 

When Abby finishes, she kisses the top of Clarke’s head and rests her chin there. They stare at each other for a moment, committing it all to memory until a knock at the door and Raven’s “it’s time,” has them embracing and frantically wiping at each other’s tears. 

“I love you, baby girl,” Abby gasps and presses their heads together. 

Clarke lets out something between a laugh and a cry and nods vigorously. “I love you too.” 

 

* * *

 

When she hears it out of Clarke’s mouth again, her daughter’s head is pressed to Lexa’s this time and they’re at the alter, cheers filling the air. She laughs and cries and presses to Raven and Kane in their hugs and cheers and tears and when she sees Clarke lean in and capture Lexa’s lips passionately, happily, fervently, she feels Jake and closes her eyes. 

The sound dims around her and she recalls his face, laughing and smiling with Clarke giggling atop his shoulders as he twirls to the music in their apartment on the Ark. When she opens them again, blue eyes are staring at her with a hint of concern. But then Abby smiles and Clarke laughs with tears once again in her eyes, and for the first time in a while, everything feels perfect and alive. 


	21. Underwear Don't Care

Clarke sighs and rearranges the bags and boxes in her hands, her torso bending backwards to accommodate it all. She shrugs her right shoulder even higher to secure her phone to ear and rolls her eyes as the voice on the line continues to ramble. 

“Raven. Raven, stop talking. Just tell me which key it is.” 

“I already told you.” 

Clarke hikes her leg up and adjusts the load in her arms. “Tell me again, Reyes, c’mon my arms are falling off.” 

“it’s the one with the three thingys.” 

“The three–what?” Clarke peers over a box and inspects the five keys on the keyring in her hand. “Why the hell do you have this many keys?” 

“One’s for work, one’s my spare car key, one’s the mailbox, one’s–” 

“Rhetorical question. Girl, I don’t see one with ‘three thingys.’ 

“It’s there, Clarke.” 

Clarke peers back down and sifts through the keys in her hand for a third time, groaning when she finds no ‘three thingys.’ 

“Raven–” 

“Oh shit! Sorry, that’s what my other one looked like. It’s the shortest one and has like random teeth.” 

“Raven, I swear to god.” 

“My b, Clarke. Look, I’ll get to so much ice cream it’ll all be worth it, trust me.” 

“Better be some good fucking ice cream,” Clarke mutters as she finds the right key and sends a silent ‘thank you’ into the hallway. “I got it, I’m gonna go now.” 

“Mine’s the one on the left side of the hallway.” 

Clarke hip shoves through the door and she nods, though Raven can’t see it. “Yeah, I know, I helped you move in, Raven.” 

With a few more exasperated nods and huffed out answers, she drops the boxes inside the front door and lets her phone drop into her hands. Wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, she surveys the nearly empty apartment, eyes jumping to the new pieces of furniture now standing in the living room. She figures they must be Raven’s roommate’s and admire’s the girl’s taste despite her intimidating and broody demeanor when they’d met the other day while Clarke helped Raven move in. 

If she was being quite honest, she’d say she was a little jealous of the place. it’s bright and airy with huge windows and light hardwood floors that would be just absolutely perfect for painting, but she has her own place with Octavia, and it’s small, but cute and it’s hers. So instead she admires from afar and helps herself towards the kitchen for some nice, cold water. 

What she finds stops her dead in her tracks, eyes widening to comical proportions when she stumbles upon said broody roommate clad in nothing but a tanktop and underwear, belting out a song she recognizes, but can’t quite place right away. She tries not to stare when her eyes immediately fall to the girl’s swaying ass, but it’s a nice ass and it’s swaying and it’s harder than it should be to look away. 

Eventually she does it, and by that, she just replaces the gaze on the girl’s rippling back and stunning hair, wondering to herself how she’d missed the jaw-dropping beauty of her best friend’s new roommate upon their first meeting. 

But then she remembers those hard, green eyes and locked jaw, and she panics. She begins back pedaling on tip toes, eyes trained on the girl all the while as she slowly backs her way out of the kitchen. But then the girl slides across the tile in her socks, catching her earphones on the arm of a dining room chair, and they come ripping out of her iPod. “Strangers Likes Me” fills the apartment and Clarke’s ears, and she tries, oh god she tries, but she’s laughing before she can stop herself. 

The roommate whips around so fast it’s a wonder she doesn’t slide in those socks and fall right on her face. She somehow manages to stay upright, and where Clarke expects to see fury, there is only embarrassment. Embarrassment that looks incredibly adorable on the girl. She looks good with wide eyes, a bright flush and gaping mouth. 

“Hi…sorry…I’m Clarke. I’m Raven’s friend. We met the other day? She asked me to drop some stuff off for her I still had in my car when I helped her move in.” 

The silence is deafening as Clarke’s excuse goes amiss and the red on the girl’s cheeks only continue to deepen. 

“That’s a great song,” Clarke tries, gesturing to the iPod still blaring the Tarzan soundtrack. 

“Clarke?” 

“Yes?” Clarke shoots, relieved that there’s finally some reciprocation. 

“Would you mind maybe going to the living room. I’d like to put some pants on.” 

Now it’s Clarke turn to blush. “Oh god, shit. Of course. Yeah, I’ll just–” she points behind her awkwardly and nods, “yeah, ok. I’ll be here. Or there. In the–yeah.” 

Lexa, to her credit, waits patiently as Clarke fumbles toward the living room, and maybe she’s delirious but she could swear she sees a slight smile playing at the corner of her amazing, full lips. Or maybe it’s just the heat. She looks around mindlessly, trying to appear busy as she hears Lexa pad past her, and catches site of the boxes and bags she’d discarded by the front door. Thinking it’ll help pass the time, she saunters over to them after Lexa disappears down the hallway and begins shuffling them towards Raven’s door with her feet. Her hands tapping out an annoyed text. 

_Clarke: Raven. U little shit. U said ur roommate wouldn’t be home._

_Raven: Lexa? She’s not supposed 2 be. Usually is at work rn._

_Clarke: Yeah well I can assure u she’s not. Unless being at work means dancing around and singing in the kitchen in her underwear._

_Raven: Yooooo that’s fucking hilarious. My b. Maybe she took the day off? U 2 should talk. She’s hawt._

_Clarke: Raven wtf._

_Raven: I’m just sayin, Clarke. It’s been a while. U need to get laaid._

Clarke thinks about replying, but then again, her best friend isn’t wrong. So instead she flops down on Raven’s newly put together bed and surveys the room. There’s some new paintings on the wall since the last time, some pictures of herself, Octavia and Raven. Pictures of Finn and Fluffy, Finn’s cat. A punching bag stands in the corner and the dresser Clarke personally hauled in from the truck sits already filled with leggings and sports bras spilling out of the drawers. It’s s all very Raven, and Clarke cant’ help but smile. It was nice to finally have all of them out there. Moving to California was perhaps the best decision they’d made as a friend group and even though it’d taken a little while for them to all get out there, it had happened. And it felt great. 

“A new start,” Clarke murmurs, her gaze falling on some of her own paintings on the wall with a critical eye. Raven clearly loves them enough to have them up there, so she takes the silent compliment with a small hum, knowing her friend would never acknowledge so out loud. 

_Clarke: nice paintings, Reyes._

_Raven: get outta my room, creep._

_Clarke: im just sayin. nice touch, artist’s got some real talent._

_Raven: Careful, ur head might pop. i can see it growing from here._

“Clarke?” 

Clarke’s chuckle catches in her throat at the sound of her name coming from the living room and she gives herself a second to collect. This girl wasn’t that bad. Cute, maybe a little scary, but nothing she couldn’t handle. 

“Yeah, I’m here.” She shuffles out of the room and pokes her head around the corner finding Lexa in the living room, her arms folded across a freshly-dawned white button up tucked into some _god awfully cruel_ cerulean blue suit pants, and Clarke realizes she’s wrong. So wrong.  The brown, leather belt is a nice touch and has the artist in Clarke itching to capture the crips lines and striking color contrasts. She keeps herself from whistling, priding herself in her self control. 

“You clean up well,” and it’s not awful, but it’s not great, so she clamps her mouth shut and decides to take another study of the living room, thought she’s pretty sure she’s got the couple of chairs and coffee table fully committed to memory by now. 

“Thanks. Look, I’m sorry about before. I don’t usually–I mean, that’s not…” Lexa pauses and runs a hand through that golden, brown hair and Clarke can’t help but stare. The living room chairs are only so interesting. “I’ve got to run into work.” 

“Oh right. Yeah, Raven said you’d be there. That’s why I came now, I didn’t think you’d be here. Otherwise, I never would have imposed.” 

Lexa nods and checks her watch, and it’s not meant to be rude, but Clarke gets the idea. She grabs her purse off the floor and claps her hands together, not quite sure how to make a graceful, suave exit and not quite sure why she feels the need to. “So, that should be it for Raven’s stuff. Then again, she is a bit of a space cadet. No promising I won’t find more of her stuff in my car. But don’t worry, I’ll knock next time.” 

“That’d be good,” Lexa nods and grabs a briefcase from the couch. She looks much too young to be wielding such outfits and accessories, but it suits her, and well, those pants do awful things to her legs. “I’ll wear pants next time.” 

And Clarke almost misses the joke because she’s too busy holding her breath, but then it registers and she lets out a hearty chuckle that has her blushing again. “I mean, you don’t have to.” 

And… there goes the moment. She claps her hand over her mouth and shakes her head, because god, she sucks at this. 

Though Lexa freezes for a moment, she eventually lets loose just the smallest sliver of a smile and brushes her hair behind her ear needlessly. “I’ve gotta go,” she says after a moment and Clarke jumps. 

“Right, you said that. Of course. So I’m leaving and I’ll…see you around maybe. Yeah. Good. Bye then.” 

This time Lexa let’s out a small chuckle as she holds the door open for the blonde, and Clarke thinks it might be the best sound she’s heard all day. “Good bye, Clarke.” 

 

Clarke is halfway down the hallway when she realizes there are footsteps behind her, following her into the elevator. She turns and comes face to face with Lexa as the girl slips in behind her and presses the button for the lobby. She smiles to herself, because of course. Lexa said she was leaving, why wouldn’t she be taking the same elevator down? “Hi again,” she says before she can stop herself. 

And Lexa chuckles that same glorious sound and has Clarke bubbling. “Hello, Clarke.” 

She manages three floors before finding the need to fill the silence. Or maybe she just likes hearing Lexa talk. “So…Tarzan, huh?” 

Lexa’s head dips and she pinches the bridge of her nose. “I can’t believe you saw that.” 

“It was cute.” 

When their eyes meet, Clarke sees things click and she smiles. _Yes, I’m flirting with you._ She holds her breath for Lexa’s response but deflates when she gets nothing but the dinging of the elevator hitting the ground floor. They walk out together in silence, Lexa just slightly ahead, and Clarke tries her best not to let her eyes fall to low, but…

She’s not perfect. 

She thanks god for her quick reflexes when Lexa startles her by turning around and stopping in front of her. Her eyes fly to the girl’s and she’s stunned by just how green they are in the natural light of the outdoors. 

“I love Tarzan,” she admits and then blushes. To which Clarke can only smile and nod.  “And If you wanted,” Lexa continues, “maybe you could come over some time and we could watch it…” 

Clarke beams. “Well, that’s definitely not a pick up line I’ve ever heard before. Smooth, though, I’ll give you that.” 

Lexa laughs and runs a hand through that mane again and Clarke wonders if it’s a nervous tick…or maybe just a ploy to catch her victims off guard because she can’t seem to focus on anything but those nice hands and luscious hair when she does it. She manages to pull herself back to focus and smile as sexily as she can manage. She feels ridiculous, but her chest is warm and her stomach is fluttery and it’s so refreshing she can’t seem to bring herself to care.

“Lucky for you, I really like Tarzan too. But what if we do it at my place? Yours is kind of a wreck right now and Raven doesn’t really take hints too easily,” and then her confidence falters. “…Unless you wanted Raven there too, in which case that’s totally fine and it can be like a roommate party thing, and that’d be fun too–” 

Lexa places a brief, but confident hand to Clarke’s shoulder, silencing her. “Your place sounds good, Clarke.” 

Clarke exhales and nods, her fingers itching to explore the place on her shoulder that still felt warm from Lexa’s touch. “Awesome. So…soon?” 

“Yes,” Lexa stats, as calm as every, “that’d be great. Tomorrow?” 

“Oh like _that_ soon–” 

“Well, I mean we don’t have to. It can be later, just let me know,” Lexa amends, her eyes avoiding in a way that makes her look young and sweet and so freaking cute. 

Clarke bites her lip to suppress a chuckle. “No, tomorrow sounds great. I’ll get your number from Raven and text you. Go to work.” And she could swear that someone else took over her body when she gives the girl a winks and back pedals towards her car, a devilish but delighted smile on her face the entire way. She thanks god that when she bumps into someone and trips, Lexa is already walking away. 

_Clarke: Dude, u can leave ur stuff in my car whenever u want._

_Raven: told u she was hot._

_Clarke: she's amazing._


	22. Sick Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if it feels weird. I tried writing in past tense and it's just not my favorite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: fluff Clarke taking care lexa when she's sick/injured?

It was a struggle, but she managed to do it. Reaching around Lexa’s sleeping form on her shoulder, Clarke grabbed her phone out of her purse and peered at the time. It was way past time for Lexa’s appointment and she could feel her girlfriend growing more and more restless on her shoulder, knowing that the last dose of medicine she gave her was wearing off.

 

_Clarke: Hey mom. I’m at the drs with Lex. She’s pretty sick. Dr is packed today. If we can’t get in can we come by for a scrip?_

_Abby: Hi sweetheart. Aw, poor Lexa. Think it’s a cold?_

_Clarke: Most likely. But she started complaining of achiness last night and her fever is running high._

_Abby: How’s her throat?_

_Clarke: Sore, but not terrible I don’t think._

_Abby: So, probably not strep._

_Clarke: Right. I’m worried it’s the flu._

_Abby: How high is her fever?_

_Clarke: It was 103 this morning._

_Abby: Uh oh, that’s a little high. I have to run into an appt. right now, but swing by if you can’t get in there. Where are you?_

_Clarke: Group Health Collective_

_Abby: Ok sweetheart. Give me a call, I have a break in about an hour. Tell Lexa to hydrate and rest and that I love her._

_Clarke: Will do. Thanks, mom. Ttys, love you._

_Abby: Love you too!_

Clarke had barely put the phone down by the time it dinged again.

 

_Raven: How’s the drs going? Lexa any better?_

_Clarke: Still in the waiting room._

_Clarke: Her fever still feels high, but at least she’s asleep now._

_Raven: Ah damn. Well, send her my best! I’ll tell Octavia movie night is a no-go._

_Clarke: Actually she insisted you guys still come over. Said she’ll just crash in our room while we watch._

_Raven: Oh ok. Is she sure?_

_Clarke: Think so. I’ll keep you posted, but plan on 7ish?_

_Raven: Sounds like a plan, Stan._

Clarke chuckled through her nose and slipped her phone in her pocket, careful not to jostle Lexa who felt much too warm against her side. She sighed and brought her hand to her cheek and brush some stray hairs out of her face, admiring but worrying.

 

She was about to slip out from under Lexa and have at it with the woman at the front desk when a nurse finally entered and called Lexa’s name. Clarke smiled apologetically at the woman when the worn out brunette didn’t budge and turned to wake her up.

 

“Lexa, love. Wake-up, baby. The nurse is here.” She ran her hand over her forehead and down her hair, whispering and coaxing until Lexa’s eyes blinked open and she whimpered, hurting Clarke’s heart. “Oh, love, it’s ok. You’ll feel better soon. Let’s get you up so the doctor can take a look at you.”

 

Lexa simply sniffed and tried to clear her throat, resulting only in a coughing fit that was croupy and wet. Clarke held her close and rubbed her back, offering a tissue when it was over and they shuffled towards the nurse and into the patient area.

 

Clarke did most of the talking, answering questions here and there while Lexa struggled to keep her head upright. When it was over, a positive, but mild diagnosis of the flu joining them, Clarke put Lexa in the backseat with a blanket and her own jacket rolled up behind her head for a pillow. They stopped by the pharmacy to pick up the antibiotics, then to the grocery store where Clarke went a little nuts on the Kleenex, Gatorade, ibuprofen, throat lozenges, and tea, then finally home.

 

The trip from the car to the bedroom was slow and tedious, and Clarke could feel Lexa shaking against her. It made her ache for her girlfriend, seeing her so uncomfortable, but she was glad they’d gone to the doctor knowing that the medicine would help.

 

“Do you want your clothes off or on?” Clarke asked when they finally made it to the bed room.

 

“Off,” Lexa murmured, her head resting on Clarke’s shoulder as the blonde went to work undressing her.

 

“Do you want any PJs?”

 

Lexa shook her head and stepped weakly out of her pants, gripping onto Clarke’s hips for balance. “Too hot,” she husked, her voice gone from coughing.

 

“Do you want me to lay with you?”

 

Lexa nodded and within moments is curled into Clarke’s side, her burning head propped up on her chest as she rubbed her back. “You’ll be ok,” she soothed, pressing what she hoped was a cool hand to Lexa’s cheek.

 

It was relief when Lexa finally fell asleep after much squirming and groaning and coughing. With a few cold compresses and head rubs later, Lexa was out and Clarke could start getting things done. She looked around the room, searching for her folder and when she found it on the dresser, her heart skipped and stomach fluttered.

 

She eased herself carefully out of Lexa’s grip and adjusted the pillows, propping her up, before leaving the bed with a kiss to her warm forehead. It felt cooler now and for that she was relieved.

 

Grabbing the folder off the dresser, she padded into the kitchen and made herself some tea, popped a few Vitamin C pills to stave off any of Lexa’s germs and then plopped down at the table. With her legs curled up under her, she flipped through the planner and traced the outlines of cakes, smiling to herself when she found one with a star by it that Lexa must have placed at some point.  “That’s pretty,” she murmured.

 

//

 

_Raven: Still want us to come over?_

Clarke looked at her dinging phone and tapped out a quick reply, startled by how much time had passed. She placed a bright neon sticky next to a dress she’d been admiring and closed the folder, promising to return to it later, trying to quell the stress that came with the knowledge that they were running out of time. Who knew a year-long engagement period would fly by so quickly? She placed her mug in the sink and rummaged through the fridge, putting together a tray of Gatorade, oranges and soup, followed by a cup of warm tea and carefully brought it back to the bedroom.

 

Lexa was up and looking around languidly, her eyes water and nose bright red. Clarke hummed and sympathy and placed the tray down before climbing into bed and wrapping herself around her poor girlfriend. “Hi” she whispered, kissing into Lexa’s wavy brown hair.

 

“Hey baby,” Lexa croaked, her hand coming up to scratch at the top of Clarke’s head.

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

“A little better, I think.”

 

“That’s good. Hungry?”

 

Lexa nodded and took the soup eagerly while Clarke remained pressed to her back. “Your fever feels better.”

 

“Yeah, I feel cooler now.”

 

“How’s your head?”

 

“Still hurts.”

 

Clarke hummed and placed a hand to the aching appendage and massaged gently. When Lexa’s head fell back lazily, Clarke chuckled. “Feel good?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Good. Raven and O are on there way over if that’s still okay.”

 

“Yeah, I like the noise. It’s comforting. What have you been up to?”

 

Clarke beamed and peeled herself away from Lexa, grabbing the empty bowl from her and setting it aside. “Wedding planning.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Mhm. I’m gonna wife you so hard.”

 

Lexa’s laugh was lost in a cough but the smile remained, tired but happy. “You better.”

 

“You have to get well first. I’m not kissing you like that.”

 

It’s a lie. A flat out lie and they both know it. When Lexa pouted, her lips were captured instantly and Clarke sighs. “I’d kiss you no matter what.”

 

“That what I thought,” Lexa husked as she sank back into the pillows. Moments later, the doorbell rung and Clarke found it more difficult than expected to pull herself away. But Lexa insisted and pushed her away teasingly until Clarke sauntered to the doorway to welcome the girls in.

 

“I brought Pitch Perfect,” Raven said as she walked through the threshold with Octavia on her heels.

 

“And I brought snacks.”

 

Clarke peered at the bag of junk food Octavia held out and nodded. “Nice picks, Blake.”

 

“I do what I can,” she shrugged with wink.

 

“How’s Lexa?”

 

Clarke sighed and eyes the closed door of their bedroom. “Sick as a dog.”

 

“That bad, huh?”

 

“Yeah. The flu. She’s on antibiotics now, though, so that should clear it up soon.”

 

“Just don’t touch me.” Octavia joked, though part of her was serious as she wiggled away from the blonde on the couch.

 

 

It was hard to focus on the movie, worrying about Lexa every other minute, but halfway through, Clarke smiled to see Lexa come shuffling out of the bedroom. Wordlessly the brunette made her way over to the couch and curled up in Clarke’s lap, pressing her head to her chest.

 

She shared looks with her friends and flushed when they shot her teasing winks and gags, but she was content. Though Lexa was sick, laying there on the couch with Lexa in her arms, surrounded by her best friends, was truly what perfection looked like.

 

Except for maybe that dress she had tagged in her wedding planning folder. But that could wait another day.


	23. Command Me to be Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As always, come say hi at ecfandom.tumblr.com!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sentence prompt, clexa:  “Just hold on. You’ll be alright.” and “Let me walk you home.” 

 

* * *

 

“Hold her head, yes like that, there you go.” 

Clarke tried to ignore the way her jean shorts dug into her hips as she crouched on the field, her hands cradling this girl’s head while the EMT worked beside her.  She stared down at the girl and smiled in what she hoped was an encouraging way, but those brilliant, green eyes were still wide and terrified. 

“Can you tell me your name, sweetheart?” The EMT asked, taking her pulse. 

“Lexa.” 

“Lexa?” 

The girl whispered out a confirmation and closed her eyes, and Clarke felt her heart rate spike. She looked over at the EMT, but she seemed busy jotting something down. 

“Hey,” Clarke murmured, swiping her thumb through the track of tears leaking out of the girl’s closed eyes, “try to keep your eyes open.” 

This brought the EMT’s attention back to the girl on the ground and she nodded, tapping the girl’s cheek lightly until she opened her eyes again. “Hey, Lexa. I need you to stay awake for me, okay?” 

“Hurts,” Lexa whimpered. 

The EMT nodded and peered at her watch. “I’ve got a bus on it’s way. I just need you to stay really still and awake. Can you do that?” 

“Yes,” Lexa whispered, her eyes closing again momentarily before opening. “What’s your name?” 

Clarke pointed at herself and looked bewildered. She’d already introduced herself when she had rushed over after the collision, but with Lexa’s looking up at her with wet eyes, she figured that didn’t need to be mentioned however nervous it made her. “I’m Clarke.” She smiled and shifted so that she was in front of the sun when she noticed Lexa’s furrowed brown and squinted eyes. 

“Ok,” Lexa murmured. 

Clarke held her face a little tighter, hoping to translate some comfort. “And you’re Lexa?”

“Yeah.” 

“Pretty name.” 

Lexa smiled slightly and let out a shaky breath. “My sister’s middle name is Clarke.” 

“Oh yeah?” Clarke smiled, then turned to the EMT. The woman continued to test Lexa’s reflexes, but without much reaction from any body part, she had little to do. And without any equipment, she could only do so much. Clarke was just glad she’d been running by when she had and spotted the crowd that gathered. She watched the woman pinch Lexa’s toes and ask for a response, but with every shake of Lexa’s head, Clarke grew more and more anxious. She watched the EMT like a hawk and wished her mother was there, wished she could call her or reach down and hold Lexa’s hand, anything other than sitting their feeling helpless. 

“You said the man landed on top of her?” 

Clarke pulled out of her thoughts, and nodded. “Yeah, they both went up for the ball. I was sitting on the bench over there,” she gestured with her head, “and watched it happen. He was higher than her in the air, so when he came down, it was right on top of her head. I heard her yelp and just–ran over.” 

“And the crowd I saw? Those were the people she was playing with?” 

“Yeah.” Clarke and the EMT turned to the few bystanders still lingering. 

“Do you know any of these people, Lexa?” 

Lexa started to shake her head and hissed in pain. Clarke did what she could to soothe her, but every time she swiped through tear tracks, more followed. It took a moment for Lexa to gather herself, but when she did she looked desperate and afraid. “No, I don’t know them. I just moved here and it was just pick up. My phone’s in my bag…can you call my mom?” 

Clarke looked around for the bag she remembered was dropped near them by one of the players right after it’d happened and spotted it behind the EMT. “Um–sorry, what’s your name?” 

The EMT looked up and smiled. “Raven.” 

“Raven, right. Her bag is right there, behind you.” Clarked gestured to the red duffle bag on the ground. 

Raven turned and grabbed the bag, holding it up in Lexa’s line of sight. “Is this your bag?” 

Lexa peered into the sun and nodded every so slightly. “Yes. My phone’s in the left pocket. On the side, under my ball.” 

“Can you tell me what else is in the bag?” 

Clarke whipped around to glare at the EMT in disbelief that she was suggesting the bag wasn’t the girl’s. With a pacifying nod that said ‘give me a second,’ Raven rooted through the bag and checked the contents. “It’s a nuro check,” she explained quietly before shifting in front of Lexa. 

“So, what’s all in here, Lexa? Can you tell me?” 

Clarke smiled and nodded encouragingly as often as she could as Lexa tried to remember the contents of the bag. Her biceps burned and shoulders ached from holding the girls head in line with her spine, but she felt things stirring inside her. Pride or purpose, maybe. Something disrupting the monotony and listlessness of her normal day. It felt electric inside her and despite the dour setting, Clarke was enlivened with the drive to help this girl feel safe. 

It’s why she didn’t leave when the ambulance finally showed up. That and well, Lexa’s green eyes were still looking up at her wide and terrified, anchoring her to her side. The girl looked so small in the gurney, her head and neck crowned in the large, yellow neck brace. 

“Hey Reyes,” one of the EMT’s greeted, clapping her on the back. “Thanks for lookin out. We’ll see you later.” 

Raven nodded and helped lock the gurney into place, then stepped back. 

“Wait, you’re not coming?” Clarke asked, suddenly panicked. 

“I’m technically not on duty. I’d be in the way, anyways. She’ll be okay–sorry remind me of you name?” 

“Clarke.” 

“Clarke, that’s right. She’s in good hands. And I don’t just mean those guys,” and with that, Raven winked, shut the doors and gave the bus a pat. Clarke watched her go from the small window into the back of the ambulance, a knot forming in her throat as she began to second guess herself and this new thrill that now felt more like a nightmare. A whimper from beside her brought her back to reality and she turned to see a fresh waves of tears spilling out of Lexa’s eyes. 

“Hey,” she soothed, wiping the tears away, “just hold on. You’ll be alright. They’re gonna get you all fixed up in no time.” 

Lexa fixed on her liked she was the only thing keeping her from crumbling. But when Lexa’s shaky fingers found hers and they fell into an easy, but gripping hand-hold, Clarke thought that maybe it was the other way around.  

 

* * *

 

She wasn’t allowed in, of course, but felt an irrational surge of anger at the exile all the same. She didn’t know this girl, didn’t know a last name, or an age, or even a favorite color, but she felt this simmering layer of protectiveness for Lexa that had her sitting in the waiting room of the hospital, simmering for hours. 

Her phone was going off constantly with calls and texts from friends wondering where she was, but nothing grabbed her attention like the doctor who suddenly strolled into the room and called for any visitors for a Lexa Woods. 

Unsure of what to do, she rose and sank in her seat several times before finally making up her mind and huffing up to him with all the confidence she could muster. “I’m here for Lexa Woods.” 

“And you are?” 

“Clarke Griffin. My mom works here…Abby Griffin, chief of surgery?” 

“Oh, you’re Abby’s kid. She talks about you all the time. It’s nice to finally meet you, Clarke, I’m Dr. Marcus Kane.”

“Likewise. So, you’re Lexa’s doctor? How is she?” 

“Correct me if I’m assuming incorrectly, but unfortunately I can not relay medical information to non-relatives.” 

Clarke wanted to argue, but she’d been in the hospital often enough to know it wouldn’t do any good. “Well, have you called anyone? She was asking us to call her mom on the way here, but she didn’t pick up.” 

“We were not able to reach any relatives, yet, but we’re still trying.” 

“Can I see her?”

She saw the denial written on his face before he even spoke, so she stepped forward and gave what her mom would deem her ‘manipulative, but undeniably cute puppy dog eyes.’ “Please, just for a moment. She was so scared and she doesn’t have anyone else here. I’ll be in and out. Please.”

After going through all the trouble and milking her pout for all it was worth, now that she was standing outside of the door, she wasn’t sure how to proceed. Did she walk in and wave? Did she say something? Did she ask if she could come in? 

She opted for a knock on the door and was relieved when a small “come in” answered her. She swallowed and tried a timid, “Hey, Lexa…it’s me…” 

“Clarke?” 

Clarke nodded and shuffled slowly over to the bed, building in confidence when Lexa’s face seemed to flood with comfort and relief. 

“You’re still here?” 

“Yeah…I was just out in the waiting room. How are you feeling?” 

Lexa glanced down at her body, lifting her wire-clad fingers and arms ever so slightly and managed an almost imperceptible shrug. “I’m okay.” 

“Yeah? Are you in pain?” 

“A little,” Lexa whispered and Clarke had to restrain herself from reaching out and grabbing the girl’s hand. She sounded so small and scared, it made Clarke tremble in sympathy. 

“Can I get you anything? Are you thirsty?” 

Lexa thought for a moment, then surprised her when she sighed and crinkled her brow. “Why are you here?” 

“What?” Clarke flinched at the distrust in the sound of the girl’s voice and stalled by the bed. 

Noticing this, Lexa softened and let out a long, exhausted sigh. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong…I just–you don’t know me at all, but you’re here. And I’m just wondering why?” 

“Well, if it were me, I wouldn’t want to be alone,” Clarke shrugged. When tears began to leak out of Lexa’s closed eyes, she couldn’t help but to reach forward and swipe them away. “Hey,” she tried in her most gentle voice, “it’s alright. I’m not going anywhere unless you want me to.” 

Lexa couldn’t seem to find words at the moment, but the tightened grip on her hand gave Clarke her answer and she was content to brush away Lexa’s tears and murmur soothing things for the time being. 

When she finally got kicked out for the night, she wondered if Lexa’s stomach turned the way hers did when she walked out of the room. She smiled when Lexa stopped her and asked if she’d see her again and confirmed she’d be back tomorrow. 

 

* * *

 

When two weeks passed and the doctors still weren’t able to reach anyone, Clarke was able to coax out of Lexa a confession that she was an orphan and had been giving everyone her foster mother’s number…a foster mother who was absentee and not particularly stable. In the same day Clarke learned that Lexa was a student at her university and had no relatives, save for a foster sister, and lived alone in a studio apartment. She couldn’t understand how anyone so alone and disadvantaged could possibly be so strong, but in the end it was Clarke who was being comforted by the girl who had quickly become a friend. 

“So, what will you do when you’re discharged?” 

Lexa shrugged and munched happily on her jello, almost a new person now that she was free from the constricted neck and back brace. “Go home, go to school, go back to playing soccer in the park?” She smirked and gave a soft snort at the quirked eyebrow Clarke gave her in response to the last one. “ _After_ I recover. Jello?” 

Clarke laughed and shook her head, but helped herself to the bananna on Lexa’s tray instead. But her smile fell just as quickly as it came and placed her hand on Lexa’s knee, thinking she was giving comfort, but suspicious that maybe she was getting more than giving. 

“Hey, don’t do that.” 

“Do what?” Clarke asked without looking up. 

“Don’t,” Lexa gestured vaguely around toward’s Clarke’s bowed head and huffed, “disappear into there and go all downer on me.”

“I just, I dunno. I worry about you. You don’t have anyone.” 

“I have you,” Lexa murmured, suddenly shy, “right?” 

“Of course you do. Of course. But what about–” 

“Hey,” Lexa grabbed her hand and squeezed, “I’ll be alright. Okay?” 

Clarke smiled at their locked hands and nodded, content for the time being.

 

* * *

 

“Doing okay?” Lexa was panting against her side, head nearly drooped to her shoulder as they limped down the sidewalk. Lexa nodded and tried to lift some of her weight off of Clarke, but Clarke only tightened her grip around Lexa’s waist and pulled her closer. 

“I bet when you said ‘let me walk you home,’ you didn’t count on having to carry me,” Lexa huffed.

Clarke laughed and pressed her head to Lexa’s affectionately and hoisted Lexa’s bag up higher on her free shoulder. “No way I was gonna let you limp home all alone when the bust stop is two blocks from your place. You shoulda let me call that taxi.” 

“I need to get stronger, Clarke. This is good practice.” 

“No, this is called overdoing it, Lex.” 

“Yeah, yeah, well. You know.” 

Clarke chuckled and shook her head. “You’re crazy, you know that?” 

“Yeah, maybe. But you’re still here aren’t you?” 

Clarke gave Lexa’s hip a firm squeeze and just smiled as they continued their hobbling. 

 

* * *

 

“So this is it.” 

Clarke let Lexa’s bag thud to the floor and wiped her sweaty forehead with her forearm as she looked around the apartment. “It’s nice.” 

“Eh. It’s too big.” 

“Too big?” Clarke stuttered into the living room and flopped down on the couch. “That’s not a usual complaint.” 

Lexa appeared from somewhere off to the left with two glasses of chilled water and handed Clarke one. She struggled to sit down next to her, but when Clarke placed a flat palm against Lexa’s lower black and helped steady her down, she made it with a few groans and shared giggles. “I feel old.” 

“You fractured your spine, Lexa, it’s gonna take time.” 

“I didn’t fracture it, I dislocated it.” 

“They’re all called fractures.” 

“Well aren’t you the smart doctor.” 

“I mean my mom _is_ chief of surgery.”

Lexa collapsed on Clarke’s shoulder and yawned. “So _that’s_ how you got away with crashing my room for three weeks without being a relative.” 

“No, it was my charm, thank you very much.” 

They sat their quietly, enjoying each other’s company and warmth despite the thin sheen of sweat covering them from the hot afternoon trek. Clarke traced designs into Lexa’s hand and hummed, wanting to know what this feeling meant, but actively trying not to figure it out. 

“Hey Clarke?” 

Clarke nearly jumped at the break in silence, but quickly composed herself and turned to look at her friend. Her _friend._ She reminded herself that and swallowed everything she could–feelings, thoughts, desires–when she met those wide, green eyes, no longer terrified and wet. “Yeah?” She asked, licking her lips that were suddenly all too dry. 

“Thank you,” Lexa whispered.

“For?” 

“Staying with me that day. And for sticking around.” 

Clarke smiled. “Of course, Lex.” 

It’s sudden and swift and completely unexpected, so Clarke freezes when Lexa leans forward and presses nothing more than a whisper of a kiss to her lips. Her eyes are still closed when the feeling disappears, but she could feel herself lean forward looking for more. Meeting nothing, she opened her eyes and frowned to see the terror back in the green. “Lex?” 

“I’m so sorry,” Lexa gasped, “I don’t–I–” 

“Hey.” Clarke shifted closer to Lexa and ran her hands along her forearms, soothing, wanting, waiting. “It’s okay. It’s…it’s more than okay.” 

“Yeah?” Lexa looked both relieved and skeptical. 

Clarke moved her hands to Lexa’s face and leaned forward, testing. When Lexa pressed in ever so slightly, Clarke smiled and closed the gap with a shy, but ecstatic hum. 

“Clarke?” Lexa murmured against Clarke’s lips.

“Yeah?” 

“Remind me…do I still have a concussion?” 

Clarke pulled away slightly and cocked her head, wondering what Lexa was up to. “No…you were cleared last week.” 

Lexa smiled and Clarke felt her insides dance. “So then I’m not hallucinating?” 

“No,” Clarke laughed, “you’re not.” 

“Oh thank god,” Lexa breathed and leaned in to capture a giggling Clarke against her lips again. When they pulled away again, Clarke  tingled and Lexa flushed and only felt a little in pain from where she’d been leaning. “You know, if I’d known fracturing my spine would get a beautiful girl in my apartment kissing me, I would have done it a lot sooner.” 

Clarke chuckled and shifted over onto Lexa’s chest and nuzzled against her. “You didn’t fracture it, you _dislocated_ it, don’t be such a drama queen,” she teased.

Lexa was too busy pressing kisses into Clarke’s warm hair to argue, but Clarke could swear she felt the smile on her skin. 


	24. A Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clexa prompt: "A kiss for good luck?"

Lexa would be lying if she said she weren’t disappointed that Clarke wouldn’t be going to her last ever NCAA championship game. But she knew it was far and her wonderful girlfriend roadtripped to most of her other away games so she couldn’t really complain.

So she didn’t MEAN to sigh and look so dejected when she knocked on Clarke’s door. It just sort of happened and when Clarke frowned and pulled her in for a hug, the huff of air she let out was definitely an accident.

“Lex–hey, c'mon,” Clarke sighed, forcing Lexa out of the crook of her neck. She brought her hands to her girlfriends’s cheeks and swayed her head back and forth teasingly until she got a small smile.

“Sorry,” Lexa muttered as her hands went to Clarke’s hips.

“I know you’re bummed, baby, but I promise we’ll celebrate when you come back with the trophy.”

“If.”

Clarke placed her hands on Lexa’s chest and smoothed out the wrinkles in her warmup jacket and patted the maroon ‘P’ over her chest. “When the Polis Pirates win their 4th consecutive national championship under star forward Lexa Woods, said forward will be getting a mighty fine celebration with her adoring girlfriend. You’ll see.” Clarke winked and pulled Lexa inside by the hem of her jacket. “When do you have to leave?”

Lexa glanced at her watch and kicked the door closed behind them. “Couple of hours. Bus leaves at 4.”

Clarke gave her a wicked grin and grabbed her hand, pulling her close. “Plenty of time,” she husked.

Lexa’s brow cocked in playful confusion and she let herself be led down the hallway. As soon as they crossed the threshold into Clarke’s room, the blonde backed her up against the wall and trailed her hand down Lexa’s stomach.

“What are you doing?” Lexa whispered, eyes wide on Clarke.

“Giving your a proper send off.” Clarke slipped her hand under the waistband of Lexa’s sweats and pressed her lips to the girl’s tan neck.

“Oh shit,” Lexa squeaked as her head fell back against the wall.

//

Laying there with their chests heaving, bare skin hot and sticky with sweat, Lexa turned to look at Clarke and for a moment wondered how mad her coach would be if she just never showed up.

She brought her hand over to Clarke’s chest and outlined the underside of her breast, swiping a thumb across her still hard nipple. When Clarke twitched at the sensitive touch they both chuckled and again Lexa wondered if she could get away with not showing up to the bus.

She rolled over to her side and sighed at the time on the clock on Clarke’s bedside table. Electing to ignore it, she gazed down at Clarke and felt a familiar flutter in her chest. She hadn’t realized she’d been staring until Clarke giggled and raised off the pillow to give her a kiss. “What?” She asked, still against Lexa’s lips.

“What?”

“You’re staring.”

“You’re pretty.”

“You’re charming.”

Lexa shrugged and reluctantly sat up. “I’m right.”

Clarke joined her and looked over at the clock. “And you’ll be late if you don’t get going.”

Lexa groaned and flopped back down to the bed. “Don’t wanna,” she whined.

Clarke just laughed and crawled out of the sheets. She walked around the room collecting Lexa’s clothes and threw them at her piece by piece. “You have your water bottle? Shin guards? Oh and your tape? I know your ankle’s been sore.”

After she was fully dressed, Lexa smiled and grabbed Clarke’s wrist, pulling her back down. “I’ve got it all, don’t worry.” She wrapped her arms around her waist and pressed her head to her chest, reveling in the warmth and soft scent of Clarke’s bare skin. “I love you, Clarke.”

Clarke brought her hand to Lexa’s hair and hummed as she raked her fingers through the brown waves. “I love you too, sweetheart. And I’m so proud of you. You’re going to kick Arkadia’s ass. And if you don’t, you’re still my star and I’m still amazed at what you’ve done. Kay?

Lexa nodded and let herself enjoy the moment for a second longer before sighing and forcing herself up. "Text you tonight?”

“You better.” Clarke walked her to the door with their fingers laced together and gave her a kiss that was nearly impossible to break away from. Clarke laughed and shook her head. “You act like you’re going away for a month.”

“Might as well be,” Lexa pouted.

“It’s less than a week, Lex, you’ll be ok.”

Lexa grabbed Clarke’s hips and pulled her back in. “I just really love you.”

Clarke bopped her on the nose and pushed her out the door with one last kiss. “I really love you too. But you gotta go kick butt.” With a pat on that very appendage, Clarke sent her on her way and watched her saunter off down the hallway. “Score for me!” She called out.

Lexa twirled around and winked. “Always do,” she replied with a cocky grin that made Clarke’s thighs clench and really wish she weren’t watching her girlfriend walk away.

//

  
“So she still doesn’t know?”

Clarke shook her head with an excited smile as she plugged the address into Raven’s GPS.

“What about O? She doesn’t expect anything?”

Clarke looked back at Bellamy and Lincoln in the back seat and offered a bag of twizzlers, “no, neither of them know anything. Lexa wouldn’t stop pouting when she came by yesterday.”

Raven laughed in the driver’s seat and nodded, “Octavia was the same way.”

“Does Lex know we’re grabbing our parents too?” Lincoln asked as he placed his hands on the two front seats and leaned forward to talk with the girls better.

“No, they literally don’t know anything. Lex texted me this morning telling me that your mom was still telling her she wasn’t sure if they’d make it.”

Lincoln laughed and let out a low whistle. “They’re going to freak.”

“I just have one question,” Bellamy added.

Clarke cocked her brow at him in the rearview mirror, knowing that tone.

“Why are the two 6 foot+ guys sitting in the back?”

The girls snorted. “Because they’re OUR girlfriends and it’s my car,” Raven laughed.

“They’re OUR sisters,” Bellamy huffed. “Bros before hos.”

“Not what your sister was moaning the other night,” Raven shrugged.

Clarke gaped teasingly and smacked her on the shoulder, but couldn’t keep back her laughter. When she glanced back at the rearview mirror, Bellamy was pinching his nose and grimacing while Lincoln had his head pressed to the window, trying not to grin.

//

  
Clarke bounced on her toes giddily as she stood in the crown of maroon-clad fans waiting to greet the players off the bus. She looked behind her at her friends and parents and smiled when Indra and Gus winked at her.

She nearly squealed when the bus pulled up and stopped at the curb and players began filing out. She cheered and hopped up and down, but peered around anxiously, waiting for Lexa to get off last as she usually did.

“Honestly, why do they have to sit at the back of the bus?” Raven groaned beside her. She turned to look at her and agreed in light-hearted annoyance, but when the crowd’s cheering surged in volume, she felt herself flutter and whipped around to see the object of the fans’ affection.

Lexa stepped off the bus right behind Octavia and smiled and waved dutifully, her bag slung over one shoulder, headphones hanging around her neck. It made Clarke swoon and she almost forgot to get Lexa’s attention. Almost.

“Hey! Looking good number 7!” She shouted. She worried she wouldn’t be heard in the crowd, but when Lexa’s head whipped around and wide eyes searched for the voice, she jumped up and down and waved until both she and Octavia caught her eye.

She was laughing when Lexa rushed over to her, wide green eyes flicking back and forth between her, her friends, and her parents. She wrapped Clarke into a quick hug then gaped at her, at a loss for words. “What are you doing here?!” She finally managed.

“We came to cheer you on! Did you really think we’d miss the last biggest game of your college career?”

Lexa just shook her head in disbelief and then grabbed at her brother and parents, crushing them in hugs. Clarke turned and found Octavia wrapped up in Bellamy, her feet off the ground, head thrown back in laughter. Clarke felt something electric shoot through and she knew today was going to be a good day.

Lexa appeared back in front of her and immediately took Clarke’s face into her hands, eyes wet still in disbelief. “I love you so much, Clarke Griffin,” she gasped.

Clarke could only laugh and nod, overwhelmed by it all.

“I have to go now. Kiss for good luck?”

Clarke lurched forward and pressed a searing kiss to Lexa’s lips to a symphony of catcalls from friends and fans alike.

//

After Lexa’s third goal Raven leaned over and chuckled. “Goddamn, Griffin, what exactly did you put into that good luck kiss?”

Clarke smiled and shrugged. “That’s all her.”

But when Lexa found her in the stands and pointed to her, Clarke rolled her eyes and chuckled, and thought, well maybe, she had helped a little too.

  
[#clexa](https://www.tumblr.com/tagged/clexa) [#clexa fanfiction](https://www.tumblr.com/tagged/clexa-fanfiction) [#clexa fanfix](https://www.tumblr.com/tagged/clexa-fanfix) [#clexa fic](https://www.tumblr.com/tagged/clexa-fic) [#clexa ficlet](https://www.tumblr.com/tagged/clexa-ficlet) [#clexa au](https://www.tumblr.com/tagged/clexa-au) [#clexa college au](https://www.tumblr.com/tagged/clexa-college-au) [#this is so gross im so sorry](https://www.tumblr.com/tagged/this-is-so-gross-im-so-sorry)   



	25. Double Trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clexa prompt: "How did you talk me into this?"

Lexa’s knees and hips ache from crouching so long, her minds is screaming at her to go home and every ounce of her knows this is wrong…but it’s Clarke. And she looks so beautiful here in the moonlight that all Lexa can do is lick her lips and try to focus.

She places her hand on Clarke’s lower back as she shifts, trying to wake her toes up. Unfortunately for her, they’re in a far deeper slumber than she had assumed and when she moves, she looses her balance and falls into the the car they’re crouching behind.

Clarke whips around with wide eyes and can’t decide whether to shush her best friend or giggle, so she does both and ends up falling over as well.

They sit there giggling behind clamped hands, eyes watering and gasping for air in the pitch black, illuminated only by the moon and a flickering street light at the end of the driveway.

It’s Lexa who regains composure first and when she turns her head against the car to stare at her best friend, she’s glad it’s dark enough to hide her blush.

With Clarke’s head thrown back in choked off giggles, warm summer breeze causing the delicate fly-aways framing her face to dance, Lexa thinks she’s never been more beautiful. Her fingers twitch in a restrained desire to reach out and brush Clarke’s cheek, but she grabs an egg out of the carton by their feet instead.

“Lex.”

Clarke’s whisper brings Lexa’s attention back up to her best friend’s face and she feels the look Clarke’s giving her spark at the nape of her neck and between her legs. She shudders internally and glances down at Clarke’s lips, practically in pain with wanting.

And then Clarke smiles.

Lexa let’s out a shaky breath and swallows hard. She returns a shy grin, then drops her attention back to the egg and begins playing connect the dots with the speckles on the brown shell, anything to keep from blushing further under Clarke’s gaze.

Clarke nudges her shoulder and Lexa nearly groans under the self-control it takes to stay calm when Clarke places her hand over the egg and brushes her thumb agains Lexa’s.

“I can’t believe you brought your mom’s organic free-rage eggs,” she whispers, chuckling.

“You said bring eggs, I thought you were baking!”

Clarke clamps her hand over her mouth and gives her a look.

“Sorry,” Lexa mumbles behind the hand. She hopes Clarke can’t see how hard she’s breathing at the contact, but when Clarke peels her hand away, Lexa can almost swear she sees those blue eyes fix on her lips. The blush she thinks she sees is probably just some kind of illusion in the moonlight.

Lexa shakes herself out of thoughts and Clarke pushes back onto her feet in a crouch. “This kid has been making fun of you since we were freshman and this is our last chance to get back at him.”

“So we egg his house? Clarke, c'mon aren’t we a little old for this?” Lexa hisses and pops her head over the hood of the car to check for movement.

“Hey, I’m younger than you, I’m not too old for anything.”

“Yeah by like 3 months!” Lexa’s head darts around nervously and Clarke can’t help but smirk. Lexa glares at her, but breaks into a grin only moments later. “What?”

Clarke shakes her head. “Nothing, you’re just cute, that’s all.”

Lexa’s head dips and she tries to remember how to breathe. She grabs another egg and puts it into her hand. “How did you talk me into this?” She sighs.

Clarke bends and grabs a second egg, tossing it up few inches as if to test and then smiles. “You can go if you want, but I’m not going off to college without teaching this ass a lesson.”

Lexa dips and grabs a second egg of her own, her mind made up. “I’m not leaving you,” she whispers.

“Never?”

Lexa smiles. “Never.”

Butterflies erupt when Clarke beams at her and she’s not exactly sure what the feeling in her chest is but she thinks it might be pride.

“On three,” Clarke hisses. “One…”

Lexa takes a deep breath and readies her eggs.

“Two…”

They look at each other and Lexa feels a mix of adrenaline, nerves and excitement rush through her and she’s feels deliciously alive.

“THREE!”

Their eggs splatter hard against the boy’s window and when his light flies on, the girls shriek and take off down the dark neighborhood street.

Clarke is ahead, her feet pounding hard into the pavement, but with her head thrown back in cackling laughter, Lexa catches up and then they’re off, side by side.

They run to a field behind Lexa’s house and collapse as soon as their feet hit the tall grass.

Their chests rise and fall rapidly, almost in time with the cicada chirping all around them as they try to catch their breath, still giggling.

“I can believe we just did that,” Lexa pants.

Clarke turns to look at her and can’t stop from reaching out when she sees Lexa’s hair in her face. She brushes her hand over Lexa’s cheek in a young and tentative and tender motion, pushing a strand if brown hair behind a small ear.

Suddenly, their chests are still, but the things inside of them beat so fast Lexa wonders if it will hurt when it bursts right through skin.

“Clarke?” Lexa’s eyes remain on the sky, but when she feels the blonde shift to her side she turns to look at her.

“Hey,” Clarke mutters, eyes dancing across her best friends face, committing every angle to memory. Lexa wants to shy away under the inspection, but she forces herself to keep the gaze.

Sensing something hidden in the taller girl, Clarke reaches out and tangles their fingers together. “What?”

“What?”

“Where’s your head?”

Lexa smiles. “All over.”

“Yeah?”

Lexa nods and rolls over so that they’re facing each other in the tall grass. “This is nice,” she mutters, squeezing Clarke’s hand.

“I’m glad we’re going to college together.”

Lexa tries to smile, but it comes out more like a grimace and she cringes the second she sees Clarke read her like an open book as always.

“Lex.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Lexa. Hey. Talk to me.” Clarke places her hand under Lexa’s chin and lifts, forcing the girl to look at her.

“I have to tell you something,” she whispers.

“Ok. Anything,” Clarke promises.

“I–” Lexa swallows and feels herself start to tremble, but with Clarke’s hand still under her chin, she can’t look away.

“It’s okay, Lexa.”

“I think I’m in love with you,” she blurts, but it’s more of a whimper. She can’t meet Clarke’s gaze when her eyes start to water and she thinks the silence that follow might swallow her whole. She kind of hopes that it will.

When Clarke’s hand falls from her chin, she feels herself fall with it, but then there’s something warm near her face and it takes only a moment to realize it’s Clarke’s breath.

She lifts her gaze just in time to see Clarke inch closer and then there are lips on her and they’re kissing and it’s warm and soft and gentle and shy, but so so perfect it makes Lexa shudder.

She wants to be embarrassed when she moans and her hands drift to Clarke’s neck, but it’s Clarke and her best friend has her hand on her cheeks, keeping them together and Lexa realizes she is wanted just as much as she had wanted and it makes her dizzy.

When they eventually pull back, Clarke’s eyes are still closed and Lexa’s never seen anything more beautiful. She brings her thumb to Clarke’s swollen bottom lip and swipes across it, bringing blue eyes open to gaze back at her.

“I’m really glad you talked me into this,” she mutters.

And Clarke is still laughing when she presses her lips back into Lexa’s.


	26. Soncha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clexa Prompt: An orphan nightblood (+ or - 2 years old) is brought to Polis. Clarke helps to take care of him and discover more about little orphan Lexa past (I always assume Lexa to be an orphan since she never mentioned her parents, and Anya, Gustus and Titus are put like parents figures).

* * *

 

Lexa’s lips are warm and so soft against Clarke’s as they lie languidly together in bed, their eyes fluttering and fighting to stave off sleep. Clarke’s fingers explore Lexa’s jaw, lazily and with little conviction as they already know every curve by heart. The touch is simply comforting and loving, and Lexa dips into it with a sleepy smile.

 

“You’re falling asleep.”

 

“ _You’re_ falling asleep, hodnes,” Lexa yawns, “I’m wide awake.”

 

“You’re not.”

 

“I am.”

 

Their hushed chuckles are lost in the soft sounds of their sleep-clumsy kisses and the chirping of cicadas that blanket the thick summer air wafting through the open balcony doors. Clarke trails her finger along the silver sheen of Lexa’s skin in the moonlight, enjoying the shadow designs dancing on her ribs.  “I missed you,” she mutters.

 

Lexa smiles and pushes golden hair back from where it clings to Clarke’s sweaty forehead. “I’m here.”

 

“And you’ll stay?”

 

“Always.”

 

Clarke nudges the commander’s shin with her toe and urges her to be serious with sleepy eyes that are suddenly big and alert.

 

“The tumult in TonDC has been taken care of,” Lexa soothes, “there should be no need for me to leave again.” She chases the assurance with a soft kiss that Clarke eagerly lets calm her.  

 

“I heard there were more bandits than your scouts previously reported, and that a battle broke out. It makes me nervous that so many were able to get that close to the capitol.”

 

“Who told you that?”

 

The sheepish smile on Clarke’s face is answer enough. Lexa grunts and curls her fingers into the hair at the nape of Clarke’s neck, scratching and soothing. “Oktavia has a big mouth,” she muses. 

 

“Don’t blame her. She got back before you and I forced her to fill me in.”

 

Lexa chuckles a low, husky sound that rumbles through both of their chests pleasantly. “Perhaps she is not the warrior I thought her to be. _Our_ warriors hold their tongues.” She lovingly taps at Clarke’s lips to emphasize her point.

 

Clarke just kisses at the finger playfully and settles more fully on top of Lexa. “Well, I can be pretty stubborn.”

 

“Oh?” The question is cheeky and sarcastic in the lighthearted way Clarke had come to revel and live in since discovering Lexa’s subtle humor, predominantly reserved for quiet, private times like this. She could only chuckle as Lexa nudged her off and rolled away form her onto her back with her arm tossed over her head. “Hot.”

 

Clarke uses her foot to slide the furs off of them and waves her hand like a fan over Lexa’s damp stomach. “You worked up quite a sweat, Commander.”

 

Lexa peeks under her own arm with one eye open, a tired but mischievous smile playing at her lips. Her heart leaps at the way Clarke’s blue eyes look at her with such joy and contentment, the once persistent storms there finally quelled with time and the occasional assurance here and there. She wants to answer with something playful, wants to keep the light-hearted banter going because it is a gift that joyously contrasts the rest of her typical day filled with exhausting and impossible responsibilities. Clarke is a gift she can never quite seem to get enough of. She smiles and reaches out to caress her, but a loud pounding at their door stalls her hand midair. The sound causes Clarke to flinch and Lexa seethes when she sees the light easiness about her lover retract so hard it makes them both spin.

 

“Lexa?” Clarke’s eyes are wide and nervous as they usually are when knocking haunts their door in the middle of the night. It rarely ever brings good news and that fact has settled so deeply in Clarke’s bones, Lexa can see it ripple through all the tense angles of Clarke’s now alert body. The commander places her hand above Clarke’s knee and squeezes, hoping it will be enough as she gets up and dresses before crossing to the door. Moments later, she opens it just enough to reveal Indra flanked by two guards.

 

“Indra?”

 

“Heda, my apologies,” Indra’s voice is low and masked the way it always is when she is hesitant about news. It makes Lexa’s throat tighten and she has to fight the urge to look back at Clarke, knowing that her anxious tell will only serve to further stress the sky girl. “A warrior from Trikru requests an audience with you.”

 

“Regarding?”

 

Indra shifts on her feet, avoiding Lexa’s eyes.

 

“Indra. Chek ai au. Ron ai ridiyo op.” _Look at me. Speak true._

 

A hand in the curve of her back brings the edge in Lexa’s voice down as Clarke steps into place beside her. “What is it, Lexa?”

 

“A Trikru warrior has requested an audience.”

 

Clarke shifts nervously and leans into Lexa’s tall frame. “Why?”

 

Lexa nods to her general. “Indra?”

 

Indra clears her throat and looks between the two. Her eyes settle on Clarke for a moment before reluctantly finding Lexa’s piercing, green gaze. “A goufa kom Trikru has been found, Heda.”

 

“A child?” Clarke asks, and turns to Lexa who remains fixed on Indra.

 

“A noukru goufa?” Lexa’s voice is hard and indecipherable, but Indra nods in confirmation and Clarke watches Lexa’s face dim.

 

“Lexa?” Clarke asks, trying to recall the familiar term but unable to do so in her sleepy state.

 

Lexa turns to her, their fingers absentmindedly finding each other in gentle grazes. “No parents.”

 

Clarke’s heart sinks. “An orphan?” She knew that there were orphans in Polis and knew that they were wards of the commander. Had seen them playing in the fields on occasion, even, but still failed to believe the harsh reality of the warrior culture. She knew it happened, but had never experienced the delivery of such orphans since her time in Polis and it it now made her reel, her heart thudding heavily as Lexa sighed and nodded beside her.

 

“Yes, Clarke. Give me one moment, okay? I’ll be right back. Reshop.” Lexa places a comforting hand on Clarke’s hip and gives it a gentle squeeze before stepping out of the room.

 

She steels herself in front of Indra and nods. “Teik ai gon emo.” _Take me to them._

* * *

 

 

They walk in silence, but the air is thick between them. This is not new, nor is it rare, but after bringing back a group of orphans with her warrior party after the battle at TonDC just the other day, she hadn’t expected anymore this soon. It meant more death had occurred after her leave, and it made her stomach churn violently with every step. And she worried about Clarke, having made a conscious effort to keep matters such as these as far away from the sky girl, knowing the emotional toll it took on her. But she had been unable to do anything when the matter was brought to her door in the middle of the night. It makes her heave out a frustrated sight. “How old is the child?” She breaks the silence and keeps her eyes ahead as they skim across the dew covered cobblestones.

 

“This is his third summer.”

 

Lexa braces against the information, her chest softening as her face hardens. The youngest are the hardest. She hears their cries in her sleep, feels their small fingers clutched desperately to her long after they’re gone. She nods and tightens her hands behind her back as they pass in and out of shadows.  “What of his nontu? His nomon?”

 

When Indra doesn’t reply, Lexa stalls. She fixes a commanding glare at Indra and it’s enough to get the warrior to at least start. Indra clears her throat and looks off towards the gates. “Heda, there is something you must know,” but she hesitates again and Lexa can see the warrior’s hand tighten over the hilt of her sword. She presses a hand to Indra’s forearm and waits until she has her eyes.

 

“Beja, Indra. What is it? Ron ai ridiyo op.” _Speak true._

 

Indra grinds her teeth behind her mask of resilience, but Lexa sees it crack in the sheen of her eyes. “Em goufa…kom Gustus, Heda.” _It is…Gustus’ child, Commander._

 

The news hits Lexa like a storm and her hand drops from the warrior as the air slams from her lungs. “Kom Gustus?” She feels a violent mix of anger and sadness rage through her when she demands, “What of Andria?” Her voice seethes as she thinks back to Gustus’ houmon. A woman who cooked for her, dressed her, did her braids in the warmth of her home in TonDC for years before Lexa’s night blood was discovered.  A woman she watched fall for Gustus on her diplomatic trips back to TonDC after her ascension and his appointment to her side. A woman she learned to be soft from, a woman whose small, gentle hands wiping clean Gustus’ face after war, whose same gentle hands helped her in and out of her armor on personal trips home, taught her what love looked like. A woman who cared so devotedly for their young son after Gustus’ death by Lexa’s own sword and still found room in her heart for the young commander upon her visits home. She reels at the memories and grabs the hilt of her sword to steady herself. “Chit don daun, Indra?” _What happened?_ She growls, her feet returning to a fast pace with renewed conviction as soon as her head stops spinning.

 

“After the battle, a bandit remained, hidden in the trees. When we returned to Polis, he went to Andria’s door and demanded a horse from her to escape. When she refused, he killed her.”

 

“Where was the child when it happened?”

 

“Still with the other children removed before our arrival for the battle. Andria was found when the children were returned after our leave.”

 

Lexa doesn’t say anything, simply lifts her head and tightens her jaw as she blinks against the blurring path. She tries to keep Andria’s face from her mind, tries to ignore the way her brown eyes had pleaded into her upon her war party’s arrival to quell the bandits. Tries to forget the unmistakable sadness and hint of anger swirling among the affinity in Andria’s eyes that had once been the only thing there when she looked at Lexa.  Her fingers twitch at the memory of Gustus’ thick braid in her hand as she’d delivered it to the woman what now felt like a lifetime ago, her words ‘ _em gonplei ste odon,’_ nothing more than a tight mutter.

 

She raises her eyes to the black sea above her for a moment and lets her vision swim among the stars, taking comfort in the way they brought Clarke to mind, her sweet smile and loving eyes steadying her as she took her final steps to the gate.

 

“Opin au!” She commands, stepping forward to meet the warrior accompanying the child when the gates open. He bows to her but she waves him up and steps past him to kneel in front of the brown curls and dark brown eyes she’d once stared into on his first day of life, her heart clenching at just how like Gustus he looked now.

 

The boy looks up at her with wide, bloodshot eyes and she forces herself to breathe and smile as her knees sink into the wet ground. “Hei, Sonian. Ai laik Leksa, lukot kom yu nomon en nontu. “Mounin gon Polis.”  _Hi, Sonian. I am Lexa, a friend of your mother and father. Welcome to Polis._

 

“Yu laik Heda?” _You are the commander?_ The boy murmurs in question, his watery eyes sweeping over her kneeled form.

 

“Sha.” She manages a sad smile and holds out her arm for the grounder greeting. The tiny hand that weakly grasps at her sleeve finally draws a tear from her, but she quickly blinks it away.

 

He clings to her arm and continues to stare at her, his head tilting ever so slightly. “Ai mema yu,” he whispers, forefinger scratching nervously at the thick fabric of her coat. _I remember you._

 

“Sha,” she nods and brushes a curl from his face, “Oso don hit fau op, raun Tondisi.” _We have met before, in TonDC._

“Kom nomi,” the boy mutters. _With Mommy._

“Sha,” she replies, her voice finally cracking. Lexa thinks back to the last time she’d seen the boy and let’s out a shaky sigh. She sees Andria’s face bathed in orange, bouncing young Sonian on her knees as she watched on from across the bonfire. She’d travelled back to her home clan to help celebrate an abundant harvest and peaceful times, and it had been wonderful.  But the memory makes her ache. They’d been so happy, all of them, for the first time since the mountain, since the war with Pike, and the defeat of ALIE. Her heart had swelled at the joy of her people, their worries gone and needs met. Sonian had taken some of his first steps that night, his little fists wrapped tightly around Lexa’s fingers as she’d smiled and laughed for the first time in ages since Clarke had helped her remember how to. Those same little fists now cling to her jacket as the warm, summer air sighs around them and she forces herself to stand, hoping it will regain her some control. “Dison yu houm nau, Sonian,” she explains, her hand brushing through his dark curls, “Etin na ste ogud.” _This is your home now, Sonian. Everything will be okay._

 

“Heda?” The warrior steps forward and bows his head before moving towards the boy. “I will take him to the Goufahoum.”

 

“No. I will take him. You have done enough. Indra, please  take his horse to the stables and find him a room.”

 

“It is no need, Heda, my home is near. I will return tonight.” He kneels in front of the boy and places his broad hand against his chest. “Ste yuj, little warrior. Yu ste houm nau kom Heda.” _Stay strong, little warrior. You are home now with the Commander._

 

Lexa clasps arms with the warrior and thanks him for his service before he mounts his horse and rides through the gates leaving the three of them alone in the darkness. A low promise of a storm rumbles and flashes just beyond the tree-line and Lexa feels Sonian press into her leg. She quickly scoops him into her arms and tries to remember to breathe when his head falls to her shoulder and his arms wrap around her neck. She turns and begins the trek back to the tower.

 

“Heda? The The Goufahoum—“ Indra starts.

 

“Not tonight. I will take him there in the morning.” When she looks down, she recognizes the wild look in his eyes and presses him closer. “Fir raun, Sonian?” _Are you scared, Sonian?_

 

He nods as his thumb goes to his mouth.

 

“Kom tristraka?” _From the lightening?_

“Sha,” he whispers, his voice small and full of stale tears Lexa can see in the white tracks on his cheeks. Her free hand cards through his hair and her fingers catch on the baby braid at the back of his head. Her eyes close briefly at the thought of Andria’s nimble hands quickly weaving the braid into place before sending him off to play, and she takes in a steadying breath.

 

“Em ste jos skaikrash,” she assures, her legs working hard against the hill to scale it quickly, “nou gaf sen in fir raun.”  _It is only a storm, no need to be afraid._

She purposefully tip-toes past her bedroom, her hand on the back of Sonian’s head to keep it against her chest where he had fallen asleep, in the hopes that Clarke had done the same and was free from the worries of the night.

She takes him to Gustus’ old room, thinking that it will be a comfort to the child, but when she steps into it, the air rips from her lungs and she’s left staggering with the knowledge that she is half the reason this child is now an orphan.  She feels lost in the harsh enormity of her responsibilities, both former and future, and shifts on her feet, readjusting Sonian in her arms now unsure of what to do with him.

 

“He can sleep in our room,” Clarke’s voice says suddenly from behind her. Lexa whirls around and stares at her, wide-eyed and feeling caught.

 

“Clarke. I thought you were asleep.”

 

Clarke smiles and steps forward, running a hand through the boy’s hair. “I know you did. What’s his name?” She whispers.

 

Lexa looks down at the boy and hesitates, as if saying his name out loud to Clarke will make it all real. “He is Gustus’ child.”

 

Clarke sees the all the complexities of Lexa’s character, her past, her pain, everything, flash through her eyes all at once and reaches for her. Lexa adjusts Sonian again and Clarke presses a kiss to her shoulder. “Let me help you, Lex,” she murmurs as she slides her arms under the boy and begins to remove him. Lexa resists for a second, but with Clarke’s gentle, “it’s okay, love” she lets him go.

 

She follows Clarke silently to their bedroom, her eyes sweeping over the unaccustomed form of Clarke padding down the hall with a child in her arms. It makes her chest feel tight and she’s not sure whether it’s from discomfort or desire. When Clarke looks over her shoulder at her and smiles, though, it becomes a little clearer. Lexa swallows and nods, her jaw locked tight to prevent from saying anything out of excess sentimentality she may regret later like,

 

“I always hoped for this some day, but didn’t think it would be so soon,” Clarke teases in a low whisper as she lays the sleeping boy down on the couch and covers him. 

 

Lexa tries to chuckle, but it’s lost in her throat and she can only nod again. She’s silent like this, and stiff, all the way out of her clothes and into bed. It’s only until Clarke curls into her side and places her head on her chest that she let’s out a sigh charged with so much history it makes Clarke’s stomach flip in unpleasant empathy.

 

“What is it, Lexa?”

 

The commander simply shakes her head and draws Clarke’s soothing hand up from her chest to her mouth. She kisses the fingers there and closes her eyes, wanting never to let go of that hand.

 

“Hey. What is it?” Clarke tries again, her tone even softer, even gentler than the first time. Lexa drops her hand and tugs on Clarke until the woman is settled more atop her, enjoying the solid weight of Clarke’s body. 

 

“He is going to grow up and realize what I’ve done.”

 

“What have you done, love?”

 

Lexa closes her eyes again and works over the knot in her throat. “I killed his father.”

 

“He betrayed you.”

 

Lexa nods. “Yes.”

 

“You did your duty, Lexa.”

 

Lexa rubs at her eyes, brushing away the drop that leaks out of the corner. “He is too young to know anything of duty. All he will know is that I killed his father.”

 

Clarke turns her head and presses several, soft and reassuring kisses into Lexa’s chest, but the commander doesn’t relax as she normally does under Clarke’s lips. She sighs and presses up to her elbow. “He is Trikru, Lexa. He will grow up learning your culture and traditions. He will know what it means to betray his Heda and he will know why you did what you did.”

 

Lexa shakes her head. “Duty or not, how does one forgive their father’s killer?”

 

Clarke feels the question knock dully around inside her chest, waking up the bruises there that only dulled, never healed. “You learn,” she mutters, “or you do the best you can.”

 

Lexa’s face softens and she brings her hand up to rest on Clarke’s head, her fingers combing through the blonde hair. “Is it possible to forgive the ones you love who betray you?”

 

Clarke’s breath shutters as it leaves her lips and she feels her chest clench, knowing that Lexa will probably always wonder, always have a corner of her mind and heart that doubts that it’s possible. She raises her head from Lexa’s chest and kisses her in what she hopes it the most promising and convincing kiss she can muster. When she pulls away, she finds Lexa’s eyes wide and quietly desperate on her. She nods and offers a small, but sure smile. “Yes, Lexa. It is more than possible.”

 

 Lexa stares at her for a moment before clearing her throat. She looks away but Clarke stills her with a hand to her cheek. She rubs at Lexa’s cheekbone with her thumb and sighs, exhausted by the weight of both of their histories, both of their pains and complexities. “His father’s death is not the only thing he will know of him. He will also know that Gustus was brave and loyal and loved his son very much. He will know that he betrayed his Heda, but he did it for what he thought were the right reasons. Both parts must be his legacy, just as there are many parts that will make up yours.”

 

Lexa thinks on it before looking up at Clarke. “And you will be the best part of it all,” she says quietly, a small smile crossing her face until Clarke leans down and kisses it away. She tries to hide the small blush the comment elicited by dipping her head, but Lexa slips her fingers under her chin and beckons it upwards until their lips meet again. When Clarke sighs into it and nestles back down into her side, Lexa’s worries are momentarily forgotten and she drifts softly into sleep.  

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Lexa rouses the next morning to the sounds of soft voices and quiet chuckles and for a moment she is thrown so far back in time, she hardly recognizes it. But with her eyes still closed and the warm sun on her face, she begins to piece it together. She hears her father’s whispers and her brother’s laugh, and turns her head to see their fuzzy outlines shadowed against the fire in their hut.  She smiles in her sleep and can almost feel the heat of the small flames on her side from where her bed faced the fireplace. The image is fuzzy around the edges, but it’s a feeling more than anything and Lexa knows this one well despite its rarity. Her father’s big, brown eyes raise to meet her and he lets out a hearty belly laugh Lexa feels resonate down to her toes. “Nontu,” she mutters, but the sound fractures sharply into reality and her eyes fly open at the feel of it leaving her lips.  Her eyes linger on the ceiling while her heart races, her breathing trying both to keep up and slow down. When she turns, Clarke is looking up at her from the floor where she sits cross-legged with Sonian. There’s concern and curiosity in her eyes but Lexa brushes it away with a shake of her head and a smile.

 

She peels herself out of bed and dresses quickly, her mind ruffled by the memory and the echoing sight of Clarke with Sonian. It’d been years since she thought about her family, the voices of the commander’s in her head drowning them out with their insistence she forget about all she had known before taking the Spirit. The memory claws at her throat as she crosses the floor and places her hand atop Clarke’s head, petting it in ‘good morning.”

 

Sonian’s eyes drift up to her and again she sees Gustus. She wants to tear herself away, but Clarke’s hand suddenly goes to hers and tugs her down to the floor as if sensing Lexa’s desire to flee. Lexa plops down with wide, indignant eyes, but Clarke just smiles mischievously for a moment before nodding towards the boy.

 

Lexa lingers on her a moment longer in a half-hearted glare before she turns to Sonian and smiles. “Good morning, Sonian.”

 

The little boy quirks his head in incomprehension and the likeness to Clarke in her own confusion is so endearing she surprises herself with a chuckle. “Os senteim,” she translates, “good morning.”

 

His eyes light up and he beams. “Os senteim! Good…mouning,” he tries, his face scrunched in concentration.

 

“Mor-ning,” Lexa clarifies, now unable to keep the smile from her face.

 

“Mouerning,” Sonian tries again and smiles when Lexa hums and nods.

 

“That’s it,” she praises. She turns to Clarke. “What have you two been up to?”

 

“He has been telling me about his journey here. The trees and the stream and the moon, yes?” Clarke turns to Sonian and is rewarded with claps and giggles.

 

“Yes!” He shouts, turning to the commander. “Trees and stream and moon!” He is as exuberant in his English triumphs as Clarke had been in her Trigedasleng accomplishments, and it makes Lexa swell with pride for the both of them.

 

“Very good,” she says in a warm, firmness. “Yu ste enti? Are you hungry?”

 

“Enti?”

 

Lexa nods, “Sha. Hungry?” She turns to Clarke who is watching on with so much affection it makes Lexa tingle. “Hungry, Clarke?” When Clarke smiles and nods, Lexa feels something warm bubbling in her stomach. It turns to lead just as quickly when she reminds herself that this is not her family, and this is not her happiness. This is the orphan brought under her ward because she killed his father, and his mother, her friend, was murdered. She drops the smile that’d somehow found its way to her face and steels herself again.

 

Clarke watches it happen with practiced expertise, knowing every shade of Lexa’s green eyes, the darker the angrier, the duller the sadder, the brighter the happier. She knows every sharp angle that waxes and wanes with her thoughts, every puff of air that is frustration or fear or contentment or pleasure. She watches in sadness as the Heda mask slip quickly and securely onto Lexa’s features, and reaches for Lexa’s hand, trying to tether her down in her fleeting softness, but it’s gone and Clarke knows there’s nothing that can be done in that moment.

 

She lets her go and pulls Sonian into her arms as she stands, giving Lexa her space, content in knowing that there will be a time later to broach the subject. For now, Sonian is running his hand through her hair and whispering into her ear, “soncha, soncha, soncha,” and she feels lighter than she has in a while.

 

When they arrive in the kitchen he tugs on a strand and looks her in the eye with a small pout. “Deimeika o soncha?”

 

She frowns and stutters, shaking her head, but then Lexa is behind her with her hand in the small of her back, smiling a barely-there smile that lives more in her eyes, now bright again. She ruffles Sonian’s hair and bops him on the nose as she says “Nou get yu daun, Sonian. Klark laik soncha.” She turns to Clarke whose brow is furrowed in confusion and chuckles.  “He is asking if your hair is the sun or the sunshine.”

 

“And what did you just tell him?”

 

Lexa shrugs. “My opinion.”

 

Clarke laughs. “You said ‘soncha.’ Which is that?” 

`

Lexa shrugs again and kisses her on the cheek.

 

Clarke rolls her eyes and bumps Lexa’s shoulder with her own. “Well, what is the difference?”

 

Lexa takes Sonian from her arms and plops him down on the counter while handmaidens poke around pots and pans to get a better look at the novelty of the situation.  “The difference is that our goufa learn to be weary of the sun. It brings death if there is no water, or no tree cover. It can burn crops and lay waste to the lands in the west. The sun is strong, but brutal, violent. One of the first things we teach them is to watch the sun as they hunt and as the sun rises, so too must their water carriers,” she lifts one such bottle and hands it to Sonian who takes it eagerly into his mouth.

 

“And sunshine?” Clarke is intrigued and so very content to listen to Lexa talk about her culture, a rarity and a gift from the stoic commander who never seems to still or reflect on matters other than politics or Clarke’s needs. And she loves the way Lexa goes light and care-free when she talks about her culture.

 

Lexa’s lips flutter upwards and she looks away. “Life, beauty, light. We celebrate it every sprintam…every--“ she pauses and searches for the English equivalent.

 

“Spring?”

 

Lexa nods, “yes, every spring. When the first rays of sunshine cast a shadow of a certain length, we know that the winter is over and with the sunshine comes new life. There are many stories we tell about it, one of them being of those born with hair like yours. There is a legend that they are either like deimeika or soncha, death or life, mean or friendly. That is what Sonian is asking. You see?”

 

Clarke nods vigorously, hoping Lexa will continue, but of course, she doesn’t. “So now you know, and now you must tell him which you are. I have to meet with the fleimkepa. Enjoy your morning, and I will join you for lunch.”

 

“But you didn’t tell me which is which!” Clarke calls after Lexa, but the commander only smiles and disappears out of the kitchen, leaving Clarke in amused and slightly frustrated confusion. She turns to Sonian and peers at him. He cocks his head, his toothy grin filling his face as he holds out the water to her. “Soncha?”

 

“I don’t know,” she murmurs, taking the water and sipping from it.

 

“Soncha,” he says, nodding as if he has decided.

 

“Maybe? She places her hands on his tiny knees and sighs, “I’m not death, little one, though, I don’t know that I’m life either.” She wonders desperately what Lexa thinks of her, wondering what she told Sonian and hoping it was not an echo of _Wanheda_ , the title she had worked so hard to shake. He grabs her hair, “soncha?” He asks, unsure again.

 

A handmaiden walks in behind her and bows before placing some dirty dishes in the sink and begins washing them. She turns to look over her shoulder and smiles at the boy. “He is saying you are like sunshine,” she quips, “soncha.” The handmaiden looks to Clarke and smiles even wider, “he is not wrong, Klark kom Skaikru. Yu laik soncha, as Heda says ‘meizen en sonraumful.”

 

“Meizen en sonraumful?” Clarke asks, her heart fluttering excitedly in her chest.

 

The handmaiden smiles. “Beautiful and full of life. Like sunshine.” She bows again before she leaves, handing Clarke a plate of warm food as she does so, but it is nearly cold before she is able to focus on it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Lexa is worn by the time she sees Sonian to the children’s home for dinner and play time before bed. She still hasn’t decided where he will sleep tonight, not bearing the thought of Gustus’ child being in the home, but also knowing it would be inappropriate for him to sleep in her room again. Still, she tells herself she has another several hours to decide while he occupies himself in the yard with the other children and she occupies herself with Clarke, letting her houmon’s heady sounds and pliant body wash away her worries.

 

“ _Lexa,”_ Clarke gasps against the commander’s lips, her back arching off the bed as her fingers dig into Lexa’s hips.

 

They’re usually slow in bed, all soft and gentle and tender, relishing in their beating hearts and all the time they now seem to have post war. But tonight, Clarke is grabby and elevated and so filled with passion spurred by Lexa’s warmth towards Sonian and the revelation of how Lexa speaks about her in secret to the handmaidens, that she leaves small, red crescent moons in the skin of Lexa’s back and bruises along her collar bone. She doesn’t let Lexa come up for air as often as she normally does and her hands are in constant motion, on Lexa’s hips, her back, the nape of her neck, keeping her close every time she drifts.  

 

“You’re okay, niron,” Lexa soothes, mistaking Clarke’s fervor for franticness. Clarke had been like this in the beginning—filled with anxiety and panic, desperate to find time with Lexa, to be close to her and to feel her love after so long of denial and violence and death. Lexa flips them so that she has more leverage and can press Clarke down into the bed, calming her with the weight of her body. “Shh,” she whispers, “it’s okay.”

 

Clarke nods and grabs Lexa’s at the base of her neck, pulling her down swiftly and connecting their lips. “I’m alright,” she mutters when she moves to Lexa’s jaw, then her cheek, “I just love you so much. I want you so much.”

 

“I’m here, Clarke. I’m right here,” Lexa promises.

 

“I want you closer.”

 

“I’m right here,” Lexa says again.

 

Clarke shakes her head, her body rocking and breathing coming out thick and heavy. “I want—I—“

 

“What, niron? What do you want?”

 

Clarke gasps when Lexa nips at her pulse point, “ _inside.”_

* * *

 

 

 

Clarke is sticky with sweat and more under the furs, but she feels warm and safe and can’t bring herself to move. Instead she rolls away from Lexa and swings her arm over her head, airing out while Lexa quietly turns to her and watches.

“Warm, hodenes?”

 

Clarke nods and blows at the hair in her face to which Lexa leans over and helps, brushing it behind her ears with a gentle graze to her cheek and playful tug to the strand.  Clarke chuckles and turns to meet her gaze. “How is Sonian?”

 

Lexa swallows hard, but forces herself to stay light and easy, wanting to save these kinds of moments which she had seen little of recently with the news of bandits in TonDC having kept her busy. “He is well. I took him to the children’s home to have dinner and play with the other children.”

 

“And tonight?”

 

Lexa sinks back onto her side of the bed and interrogates the ceiling with a piercing gaze.

 

“Will he sleep here again?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

Clarke searches for Lexa’s hand under the covers and grasps it tightly when she finds it. “This is hard for you because he is Gustus’ child. But there is something else too…”

 

Lexa is still for a moment, so still Clarke might think she were asleep if it weren’t for the candles illuminating otherwise. “Yes,” is all the commander says.

 

Normally Clarke might let it drop, but she can sense that it is right on the surface for Lexa in the way her jaw clenches and her throat bobs, the emotions wanting to be freed, but needing a little help. She rolls over and places her head on Lexa’s chest, listening to the way her heartbeat skips and stutter. “What is it, love?” She whispers and kisses above the frantic organ, hoping to soothe it.

 

She thinks Lexa isn’t going to budge at first, but then the commander sighs and shakes her head. “His mother was like my own,” she says it so softly Clarke almost misses it. “She lived next to my family when I was young. And when my parents were killed…” Lexa struggles to work through the knot in her throat and Clarke is torn between reaching out and staying perfectly still as to not startle Lexa away from travelling down this path Clarke had longed to discover.

 

She opts for an encouraging smile which Lexa seems to drink in, her shoulders rolling back and her chin lifting slightly, in confidence rather than defiance. “Andria raised me until my blood was discovered and I was brought here. She was not much older than I am now when she took me into her home. I spent the days with the other children who had lost their parents to the war, but she always claimed me at night. It was unusual and many of our people said she was weak for it.”  Lexa’s head falls and her hands come up to tent in front of her mouth. “I thought she was too,” she says in a whisper that cracks around the edges and aches in a deep, sorrowful way Clarke had never experienced from Lexa before. “I stopped letting her braid my hair and I would run away at night and sleep in the woods because I did not want to belong to someone who was weak in the eyes of Trikru.” Lexa shakes her head in frustration and this time Clarke doesn’t care about being still enough to hear the rest. She wraps her arms around Lexa’s waist and props her chin on Lexa’s strong but sagging shoulder, needing to feel close to her.

 

“You were just a child, Lexa. She knew you loved her. It is impossible not to know your love. You give it so deeply, so honestly. I’m sure she understood what you were going through.”  Clarke kisses along the nape of her neck, but Lexa shutters and rolls away from her touch.  

 

“She taught me what it meant to love again after my parents died and in return, I left her. I _left_ her.” The choked cry startles them both and when it grows quickly into something that shakes Lexa’s whole body, Clarke knows there must be more to it. She doesn’t have to wait long. Lexa pushes out of her embrace and clamors out of bed, throwing her robe on as soon as her feet hit the floor. She storms angrily across the room and disappears onto the balcony. Clarke finds her with her hands braced against the railing, her head dipped between her arms and tucked to her chest in complete defeat.

 

She whirls on Clarke as soon as she hears her footsteps, her eyes wild and filled with a dark pain Clarke hadn’t seen since she’d first met Lexa all that time ago in the tent. “I _left_ her and he killed her! For her horse! Her—I was _just there!_ ” She slams her fist down and paces, her body so completely contrasted in all its hard angles from what it’d just been in bed under Clarke’s soothing hands. “She was mine to protect and I—“ Lexa’s face goes from angry to fragile so quickly, her lip trembling as her pacing stalls, Clarke feels it tear through her and lodge painfully in her chest.

  
“Lexa—“

 

Lexa shakes her head violently and tries valiantly to stave off the tears, but it’s no use. She cries into Clarke’s hands when Clarke raises them to her cheeks, her green eyes begging for answers Clarke has no idea how to give, and they stand there, both lost. “I took everything from her. Costia. Gustus. Her life.” Lexa makes to continue, but Clarke frowns.

 

“Costia?”

 

Lexa’s sigh is laced with such a fragile whine Clarke feels it prick her eyes and leak down her cheeks. The commander stares to the sky, but finds no comfort in it this time, the stars completely hidden by the clouds. She searches frantically for the comfort it normally brings her, but it’s the stars that remind her of Clarke and it’s Clarke that brings her comfort. As if reading her mind, Clarke laces their fingers together, reminding Lexa of her presence and Lexa feels her self fall back to the earth, grounded and slightly renewed as if she had forgotten she no longer had to look to the sky to find Clarke’s comfort anymore, she had her by her side now. She swallows and explains. “Costia was her sister. We—that is how we met.”  

 

She finally turns to Clarke and there is fear in her eyes. Clarke tries to kiss it away, but when she pulls back Lexa seems even more frightened. “I have killed everyone I’ve ever loved,” the commander mutters in a trembling and whimpering whisper. “They are all dead, and I—I fear you are next. And I could not live with myself if harm were to be brought to you because of me.”

 

Clarke grabs Lexa’s face in her hands and steadies her with a firm, but loving look. “All you have ever done, Lexa, is save me. I would not be here if it weren’t for you. And I mean that in every way. You are the strength and light and goodness in this world. You,” she brushes a strand of damp hair out of Lexa’s face and smiles, “You are soncha, Lexa. Meizen en sontaimful.”

 

Lexa’s eyes widen and the woman flushes, the smallest of small hints of smile playing at the corner of her lips. “Who told you?” She whispers, her eyes darting to the floor in embarrassment.

 

“Anna heard Sonian calling me soncha and she explained…everything,” she adds in a tentatively playful voice. She brings her hand to Lexa’s chin and raises is. “You are a beautiful soul in a harsh world, Lexa. Bad things have happened to you and around you, but that does not define you. I mean,” she gestures vaguely to the land sprawling beneath them, “look at what you’ve done. We have _peace,_ Lex. Real, lasting peace. And it’s all because of you and your vision. You will be a legend among our people for the violence you _ended,_ not created.”

 

 

Lexa is rendered silent by the love Clarke shows her. A love that always seems to take her by surprise. Clarke finds it endearing if not heartbreaking, finally having a peak into Lexa’s past and why the commander has such a hard time believing in the love around her.

 

It takes some coaxing, but Clarke eventually leads Lexa back inside when the four walls of the room no longer seem like they feel suffocating to the commander, and sits them down on the couch. They meld together in easy habit, Clarke’s back resting against Lexa’s chest, as the light outside begins to fade.  She occupies Lexa with a book but she herself can’t focus on anything other than what she’d just heard. Her fingers tangle with Lexa’s free hand as she processes all of the images that jump to mind of Lexa’s past. She tries not to imagine what it had been like for little Lexa to watch her parent’s die and to have her only remaining friend be deemed weak by her community. She thinks she can just make out Lexa and Costia running through the woods, all forbidden giggles and maybe even some stolen kisses.  She chides herself for feeling jealous, but she does anyways, and closes her eyes, turning her attention instead to piecing together Lexa’s time in Polis. She can just barely imagine Lexa’s days spent with Anya and Gustus from what the commander had told her, training and hunting and even the occasional playing that Clarke thinks she can see glimmers of in the way Lexa teases and chuckles when she is particularly at ease.  

 

She hums at the thought of a young, care-free Lexa and leans into the kiss the commander presses into her hair.

 

“Thank you,” Lexa suddenly murmurs.

 

Clarke turns and looks over her shoulder at her. “For what?”

 

Lexa smiles. “For being my—“  She is cut off when there is a knock on the door, and without waiting for an answer, they burst open and Sonian runs into the room, his arms outstretched.

 

“Soncha!” He squeals, diving into Clarke’s arms before either of them know what’s happening.

 

“Heda--” a bewildered handmaiden stands in the doorway, her eyes wide in horror at the perceived misgiving and she bows immediately to make up for it. “Forgive me, Heda, he wailed until he was brought here and then he would not wait. I tried, but—“

 

Lexa waves her hand and peels herself out from behind Clarke and off the couch. She strolls over to the door with her hands clasped behind her back and nods. “It’s okay, Sylva. He is lively, like his father. He can stay here for the night, but please return in the morning so that he can eat with the other children.”

 

The handmaiden bows and exits so swiftly she knocks her elbow on the door on the way out, but doesn’t stop. Lexa bites her lip to keep from smiling and closes the door, turning just in time to catch site of Sonian burrowing into Clarke’s chest.

 

Clarke looks completely at ease as her hand moves to rest on his head, fingers curling into the thin, silky brown hair. It scares Lexa for a moment until she remembers Clarke’s words and considers that maybe she does not always bring death. She smiles to herself and crosses the floor, coming to a stop by Clarke’s side. Clarke looks up at her and Lexa sees only one thing. “Soncha,” she mutters, “thank you for being my soncha.”

 

Clarke’s head dips in bashfulness, but she hums and takes Lexa’s hand, lacing their fingers together.

 

“Soncha,” Sonian echos, his small hand coming up to grasp at a strand of Clarke hair.

 

Lexa leans down and presses a kiss to the top of both of their heads and feels herself ripple in a rejuvenating and calming warmth. Looking down at the the two of them, she swallows and for the first time, she thinks that maybe this can be her happiness.

 

* * *

Translations: 

** _“Nou get yu daun, Sonian. Klark laik soncha.” –  “Don’t worry, Sonian. Clarke is like the sunshine.”_

 

 

 

 

 

 


	27. Oh Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clexa one word prompts: "Disabled clexa baby" and "socks."

"Lexa, baby,  _look."_

 

It's the fourth time Clarke has called her attention over to something that is  _not_ their shopping list, and this time, she'll be strong. This time, she won't look. This time, she'll ignore her wife, push the cart forward and this time, she  _will_ get Clarke to pick out what vegetables she wants for lasagna tonight. 

 

 

" _Lexa._ Look at this." 

 

"Do you want peppers or squash? Or both?" Lexa keeps her eyes forward as they meander at a crawl down the main aisle of Wal-Mart as if she hadn't heard Clarke at all. She think's she's thinks she’s finally succeeded in focusing her wife when Clarke quiets down somewhere behind her. She goes to the third column of her list and thumbs down the “Grains to Buy” and frowns at the foreign chicken scratch reading “honey nut cheerios.”

 

“She furrows until she chuckles under her breath and realizes she remembers seeing Raven and Octavia’s eleven-year-old scoping out the list tacked to the fridge last time they babysat for a Reyes-Blake date night. She takes her pen from behind her ear and scratches it off so as not to distract her perfectly precise and optimally efficient path through the store based on the location of each item.

 

"Oooh! Babe!" 

 

She clenches her jaw, forcing herself to be strong and ignore Clarke for her wife’s own benefit because she _knows_ if they don’t get home soon to fix dinner, Clarke will get one of her notorious hunger headaches. She presses on, one step, two steps…

 

But then there's the huff. The doghouse huff. The "if you don't cooperate in the next five seconds, the pullout couch sheets are in the hall closet, help yourself” huff.

 

Lexa swallows and drops the list in the child seat of the cart, defeated and admittedly a little scared. "What was that, babe?" She asks in her sweetest possible voice and turns. Admittedly, the sight is nice. Clarke stands with her hip cocked, a triumphant look on her face as she holds up a yellow onesie dress with pink flowers spattered across it and little matching socks. They're nice, she nods and smiles. But Clarke is biting her lip and her eyes are shiny and  _oh._ Lexa knows that look well. She steps forward, her face softening as Clarke lowers the dress, a soft smile on her face. 

 

"Now?" Lexa asks in an amazed sort of whisper. 

 

Clarke nods with a twinkle in her eye. "Well, maybe not _now._ We should probably--“ she saunters forward, her lip bitten in cheeky seduction, “go home first.” She places her hands on Lexa’s hips and pecks her.  

 

Lexa eyes the yellow jumper and swallows hard, her breathing suddenly picking up. “You know,” she hoarses out, “that it’s biologically impossible for two women to make a baby, right?”

 

Clarke winks, “doesn’t mean we can’t try…again and again and again. How’s that sound?”

 

Lexa swallows and nods vigorously, tossing her list in the cart.

 

“Squash, by the way.”

 

“What?”

 

Clarke nods towards the list. “I want squash for the lasagna.”

 

//

 

Five syllables change their lives for ever. “Spina Bifida,” the doctor says looking up at them sympathetically from his square glasses.

 

Clarke grasps her ever-growing stomach and cries into Lexa’s chest as the doctor rattles off things like “paralysis,” “in-womb surgery,” “hydrocephalus,” and a number of other syllables that shoot right through their hearts.

 

“It will be a tough pregnancy,” the doctor warns.

 

Five syllables make everything a little better as Lexa holds Clarke’s head to her chest and strokes through her hair and looks up at the doctor, “I’ll take care of them.”

 

//

 

Lexa shuffles into the red front door of her house with arms full of groceries and car keys dangling from her mouth. She’s home early form work and she wanted to be a surprise but then she’d remembered Clarke rushing around, fussing over not having Abby’s favorite lunch foods this morning, and decided to go to the store instead.

 

When she’d walked through the door she’d expected to be rushed by a wheelchair, a dog, and a wife, but when she kicks the door closed and stands still in the foyer, listening, there’s nothing.

 

“Babies?” She slips off her shoes and pads down the hall, looking from the dining room to the office as she makes her way to the kitchen, but it’s silent. Silent and abnormal and it makes her stomach squirm.

 

That is until she reaches the back of the house and spots them through the sliding-glass doors. Clarke is kneeled in the grass next to their daughter and dog. There’s nothing Lexa loves more than her little family, a little family that almost hadn’t made it, and she feels a familiar and invigorating flash of happiness… of course until she sees something that makes her heart plummet. Squinting against the sun, she watches in growing concern as Clarke raises her hand and wipes what looks like a tear off of their daughters face.

 

She all but tosses the perishable foods in the fridge and leaves the rest on the counter before making her way outside, her mind going a mile a minute wondering what could have happened this time. At the sound of the door opening, Clarke’s head shoots up and she frowns before she realizes who it is. Her smile is surprised and genuine and Lexa feels it in the way it seeps into her shoulders and relaxes the tense muscles there.

 

Clarke points, “Abby, look, momma’s home!’

 

Lexa lingers on her wife for a moment longer, her eyes questioning to which Clarke nods towards their daughter and frowns. Lexa gets it, their nonverbal conversations long since perfected. She walks through the rich carpet of grass in their backyard that the two of them had hand planted upon moving in and plops down on the other side of Abbigail. The five-year-old looks up at her with tears in her eyes and a quivering lip threatening to break.

 

“Hey beautiful girl,” she soothes, her hand coming up to wipe the tears away, “what’s going on?” 

 

Abby pulls herself towards her mother, the smallest of sniffles issuing out of her as Lexa helps her the rest of the way and slides her into her lap. When she doesn’t speak and only continues to whimper, Lexa looks over at Clark who looks like she might be about to break herself.

 

“They’re not allowing her to participate in the fieldtrip,” Clarke says in a voice straining to remain calm.

 

Lexa tenses and her jaw clenches, but now’s not the time. Not with her daughter’s tiny fist clutching to her shirt as she whimpers into her neck. “Hey, baby,” she coos, rubbing circles into her back, “can you look at me? Can you look at momma, please, sweetheart?”

 

Abby pulls back and stares at her, wide, glassy eyes blue as the day she was born. “Look at those pretty eyes!” Lexa gasps, earning a tentative smile and shyly dipped head. “They’re like the ocean! Like the sky!”

 

Abby giggles and nuzzles into Lexa’s chest as Clarke leans her head on Lexa’s shoulder and watches on, her hands moving instinctively to rub at Abby’s little legs, keeping the blood circulating through her muscles as she’d learned years ago helped with the tingling.  She stares at those little legs and drifts off into thought, her mind trying to wrap itself around the cruel realities of a world that excludes a five-year-old from her class’ field trip to the public pool because of her paralysis.

 

“Like mommy?”

 

Clarke turns her attention back to her little girl on her wife’s lap and smiles. “Hmm?”

 

“Eyes like mommy?” 

 

Clarke smiles and rubs her thumb across the smooth, unmarred skin of Abby’s cheek, but Lexa answers for her. “Just like mommy,” she says and the smile evident in her voice draws Clarke’s eyes up to her. Lexa is looking at her with so much love and admiration she almost doesn’t know what to do with herself. She returns it, but there must be sadness in her eyes because Lexa frowns and mouths, ‘I’ll take care of it.’ And Clarke hears the ‘I’ll take care of them’ Lexa once said all those years ago and knows that she will. She kisses her in a ‘thank you,’ in an ‘I love you,’ a ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you,’ and everything else she can muster.

 

//

 

“So, what’d they say?” Clarke asks, bare legs curled under her on the bed, forearms resting on the pillow in her lap as she watches Lexa walk in from the bathroom toweling off her wet hair.

 

“Fucking assholes,” is all Lexa grumbles and crosses to their dresser.

 

Clarke watches her in wonder, the way her toned muscles spark and roll under soft skin, her strong hands gracefully dragging thin, white pjs over her tan skin. She’s captivated by all the juxtaposition that is Lexa, her wife, the way even the most mundane of activities become enchanting under her spell.

 

“Lex?”

 

Lexa hums and whips around, seemingly remembering that she’s not alone in the room to simmer and burn in her anger. “I’m sorry,” she rolls her shoulders and sighs, making her way back over to the bed where she slips in behind Clarke and pulls her against her chest. “I was just thinking.”

 

Clarke turns to look at her and smiles against the kiss it earns her. “What were you thinking about?”

 

“How I might be able to play them at their own game. It’s unbelievable to me that none of this seems to register to them as disgusting and wrong. She’s five, Clarke. Five. And they’re treating her like some kind of mutant.”

 

“Did you pull the lawyer card on them?” Clarke laces their fingers together at her stomach and leans further into her wife, enjoying the way she seemed to radiate heat.

 

“I did, yeah, and they showed me the pool’s disability clause on their liability release form. It’s completely legal what they’re doing which blows my mind. What the hell is wrong with people?”

 

“What’s the clause say? Why won’t they let her go?”

 

“It’s the same clause amusement parks use almost word for word.”

 

Clarke sighs and nods. “Only a legal guardian or caretaker can handle her…”

 

“Yeah, which, I understand and I appreciate. Of course I don’t want some imbecile handling our daughter, but that’s why I’m paying thousands of dollars to send her to a private school with trained caretakers. What’s the point if they’re just going to exclude Abby because they can’t legally get her into the pool? It’s ridiculous. Insane. I’m so freaking mad, Clarke, I—“

 

“Hey, hey, I know. It’s okay, we’ll figure it out.” Clarke untangles their fingers and brings them up to Lexa tense shoulders, clucking at the knots there. “I just got these out last night, Lex. You’ve gotta relax more. How’s the Lyle case going?”

 

Lexa rubs the stress out of her face and allows Clarke to change the subject with a hint of a smirk at her wife’s not at all subtle misdirection. “It’s going well. It’ll go to trial next month and the case is strong right now as long as our witness doesn’t flake.”

 

“Do you think he will?”

 

“There’s not telling. He seems good, though. Determined.”

 

“That’s a good trait to have,” Clarke muses, her hands trailing down Lexa’s back to find purchase at her narrow hips.

 

“The best,” Lexa nods, her mind suddenly in overdrive, solving and planning.

 

//

 

Clarke’s on the floor of her gallery, her chin covered in paint from where she’d rested it on her hand as she peered up at the giant canvas, when her phone rings. She stares down frantically at her hands covered in paint and whips around in search of her cloth. Conveniently appearing to have disappeared, she bites the bullet and rubs her hands on her jeans instead.

 

“Hello?” She gasps, slightly out of breath.

 

“Clarke, honey, are you okay?”

 

“Wha—yeah, yeah I’m fine. I just couldn’t find my cloth and my hands had paint on them. What’s up, aren’t you at work?”

 

“Yeah, I’m at lunch. I figured it out.”

 

Clarke pauses, waiting for Lexa to elaborate but when she doesn’t, she chuckles and puts her on speaker. “What’ve you figured out, Lex?” She returns to her canvas and tentatively dips a brush into a dark, cerulean blue. With a spontaneous yet intentional graze, she layers a thick swatch of it across the upper corner and smiles triumphantly at the result.

 

“I’m going to take her.”

 

“Take who? Where? What?”

 

“Abby. I’m going to take Abby to the pool myself. Can you go with us? When’s that deadline? The fifth, right?”

 

“For the painting? Yeah, the fifth. Are you going to go as a chaperone? I’m confused, baby.”

 

“No, no, no, look, here’s what I’m thinking. They’re being assholes, right? So, we just go around them. We keep Abby home, make a whole day of. Go to Waffle House for breakfast, take her to the Disney Store, get her in her suit and go to the pool, the three of us, and give them the metaphorical finger; make it out own little field trip. Maybe even go to the aquarium after that. What do you think? Can you take off?”

 

Clarke’s silence worries Lexa and for a moment she thinks maybe it’s too much. She knows Clarke hates creating waves and she knows her plan is overtly passive aggressive. She’s about to take it back when she hears a watery chuckle on the other end of the line and an answere colored by an obvious smile.

 

“Yeah, I’ll take off,” Clarke says in a happy softness, “you’re such a wonderful mom, you know that?”

 

Lexa chuckles, “gotta keep up with you, don’t I?

 

//

 

“Mommy’s got you, Abby, it’s okay,” Lexa soothes, lowering her daughter into the pool towards Clarke’s waiting arms. “Let go, baby, you’re safe.”

 

Abby grips onto Lexa’s hands and shakes her head frantically. “Momma!” She squeaks, eyes clenched shut. Lexa is about to pull her back up into her arms and call it quits for a little while when she hears an excited squeal from across the pool.

 

“Abby’s here!” A little girls shouts, doggy paddling over to the little family. “Abby! Hey Abby! Come play!”

 

Abby’s eyes peek open and she beams, suddenly wiggling wildly in Lexa’s grip. “In, momma, in! 

 

Lexa and Clarke share a chuckle as Lexa lowers the little girl into the pool and into her wife’s arms. Abby wiggles excitedly and paddles her arms towards her friend, urging Clarke forward.

 

“Hi!” The girl squeaks, her small hands gripping onto Abby’s cheeks in greeting. Abby giggles and sticks her tongue out. “Are you Abby’s mommy?” She asks, looking up at Clarke.

 

Clarke smiles, “I am. And what’s your name?”

 

“It’s Maris!” Abby interjects in giddy excitement.

 

“Abby is my bestest friend in the whole word!”

 

Clarke laughs and let’s go of Abby, watching carefully to make sure her life jacket stays secure. It rides up a little towards her ears, but the litter girl doesn’t seem to mind as she paddles closer to her friend so that they’re holding hands and swishing about.

 

“Hey,” Lexa says softly, suddenly behind her, arms snaking around her waist.

 

Clarke hums and leans back into her, watching their daughter play. “I’m happy,” she mutters.

 

Lexa kisses her temple and squeezes. “Me too. Thank you.”

 

Clarke turns and loops her arms around Lexa’s neck. “For what?”

 

“For stopping me that day in Wal-Mart and giving me this beautiful family.”

 

Clarke rolls her eyes to hide the fact that they’re watering and chuckles. “Who knew you were such a sap?”

 

“Hey,” Lexa pecks at her lips and smiles, “you married me, didn’t you?”

 

“Yeah,” Clarke smiles, “I did.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	28. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Please do a prompt of where clexa are divorced and it's really fluffy. Like they keep meeting and Clarke finally gives in and kisses Lexa and they just say "God, I've missed the taste of your lips on mine."

They were too young. Young and reckless and too in love to see that sometimes love just isn’t enough when the timing isn’t right. But damn, they had been good together. So good, in fact, that they’d been dubbed the “forever couple” by their friends. No one saw any of it coming. Not Raven or Octavia or even Bellamy who watched over Clarke and her happiness with the same borderline overbearing fervor he used on Octavia.

But most of all, Clarke never saw it coming and that perhaps had been the hardest. That, and the fact that now she can’t stop unseeing the way it’d all unraveled. Not with Lexa this close. Not with everything around her decked out in white and filled with champagne glasses and flowers and vows that make Clarke sick to her stomach.

“You’re staring again.”

“What? No. No I’m--” Clarke frowns and shakes her head. “I’m not staring.”

“You’re totally staring,” Octavia says, chuckling.

“Definitely staring,” Raven adds, because of course she does. “But that’s okay. I’d be staring too if my ex wife looked that good in a suit.” She tips her glass up and peers over at Clarke with amusement in her eyes.

“I’m not--she doesn’t--”

“Look, Clarke. Cut the bull, we’re you’re best friends, we see right through you. Why don’t you go talk to her? You said you guys were on amicable terms now.”

Clarke scoffs and doesn’t bother to answer such an absurd suggestion.

“Yeah, and besides, it’s not like she can stop staring either.” Octavia mutters, lips wrapped around her champagne glass.

Clarke tries to be subtle, but the way her head and eyes whip up is anything but, and Octavia and Raven share a knowing grin.

Sure enough, when Clarke looks back across the dance floor, Lexa’s eyes are locked onto her, but they flit away as soon as they catch Clarke looking back. Clarke stares after her, eyes sweeping across her ex’s standing form, straight backed and majestic as always. Clarke feels something all too familiar flip in her stomach. She knows exactly what it is because it’d never left. Not with the fights or the tears or the papers and the signatures. It’d always been there. Over the five years of no communication and feeling memories, it was still there. With every headline and article with Lexa’s name that passed through Clarke’s browser, with each one that got downloaded and saved in secret pride, the feeling was there just as strongly as they day it’d started.

“Clarke.”

“What?” She snaps.

“Shit, nevermind.” Raven surrenders and leans back towards Octavia, giving Clarke her space.

She doesn’t mean to snap, but she’s just so damn tired. Tired of missing her best friend. Tired of a long five years crawling into bed alone, wondering when their do-over would start. She’s tired of watching her friends fall in love and swallowing the guilt she feels when it’s hard to be completely happy for them. She’s tired of wondering if Lexa still wonders about her. Still misses her. Still climbs into an empty bed and yearns for what it used to feel like to fall asleep in the arms of someone you love so much it’s almost hard to breathe. She’s tired of touching herself and trying to remember what Lexa sounded like in her soft, quiet pleasure. Tired of missing the way Lexa’s face would light up so bright when she surprised her sweet, but exhausted budding business entrepreneur with lunch on her breaks at the office. Most of all, she’s tired of the regret. Tired of hearing their final blowout scream through her mind on a monthly, sometimes weekly basis. Okay, sometimes daily basis. She’s so tired of rehearsing what she should have said and done instead. Each word more carefully and gently sought out. Each one filled with the reminder that there was still so much love there to be salvaged.

And seeing Lexa for the first time in half a decade does not help with the endless monologue that is annoying and every present, but unfortunately still not present enough to drown out Raven and Octavia taking bets beside her as to how long it will take before she caves and walks over there. And just for that she plants herself even more firmly on her stool and orders another drink. She sips it as she forces herself to ignore the small corner Lexa’s party takes up. Anya, Lincoln and an almost fully-grown Aden by her side, smiling and laughing with her Lexa. No, _their_ Lexa. Clarke can’t help but smile at the way Lexa remains as muted in her expressions as she’d always been. Something Clarke had come to find so painfully endearing over the years of getting to know the quiet business major who knew all the answers in her sophomore econ elective.

When she realizes she’s staring again, she rolls her eyes at herself and turns to Bellamy and Echo’s first dance. Though that’s just as bad. Because she can’t help but slip into those memories.

//

_“You look devastating, Mrs. Woods,” Lexa murmurs into the pocket of space between Clarke’s earlobe and her neck. Kissing gently once the words have been whispered there with so much reverence it makes Clarke dizzy._

_Clarke pulls back just enough to get a good look at her new wife. “Devastating in a good way?”_

_Lexa grins. “In the best of ways, my love.”_

_When they kiss, the crowd around them erupts into applause and lewd hollering that has the newly weds laughing despite how much they would have liked to stay connected, lips on lips and warm breath escaping in little puffs against their faces._

_“I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you, Clarke.” Lexa presses their foreheads together, and for that moment, the dance floor melts away. The guests melt away. The music dampens. And it’s just them. Together. Forever each other’s._

//

Clarke blinks herself out of the memory hard, throat suddenly struggling over the knot in her throat that’d formed without her initial notice.

She leaves without word to anyone. Just up and walks out of the beautiful tent with all of it’s beautiful people and beautiful smiles and beautiful vows. Walks straight out into the light summer rain that’d started that morning and never stopped, and into the middle of the adjacent field.

She collapses into the tall grass, flat on her back and doesn’t even mind the way the cold dirt soaks into her dress like an uncomfortable hug.

She’s halfway expecting the footsteps that come up behind her several minutes later. Her stomach flips all the same. She doesn’t dare look up for fear of scaring them off, so she holds her breath and waits.

When Bellamy comes into her peripheral once he’s plopped down beside her, her stomach drops so hard it’s a little hard to inhale for a second. She tries not to show her disappointment but it must be visible in every inch of her because he frowns and places his hand carefully on her forearm. “Sorry,” he says, apologizing for not being who he knows she whishes he was. “I saw you walk out. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

She gives him her best smile which must look closer to a grimace. “I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” she huffs out a laugh. “God, you big loaf. I love you dearly but I am not the person you should be with right now. You’re at your _wedding_. Go. Be with Echo. Be happy. Be a newly wed. This only happens once. You have to. You have to cherish it.”

“Clarke—“

“Seriously, Bell. Go. ”

“Hey.” His voice is soft and sad as he squeezes her arm. “That’s not true. It doesn’t only have to happen once. You can find someone else. If you want to.”

She turns her head and meets his earnest, puppy-brown eyes. She brushes her fingers along his jaw and gives him a sad grin. “I don’t want to find someone else, Bell,” she whispers.

He smiles. “Then go find her.”

//

It should have been like one of those romance movies. The rushed pursuit. The rain slicking her dress against her skin. There should have been a locked gaze and a nostalgic smile, laughter through tears and a kiss to end the world.

But Lexa is gone by the time Clarke makes it back to the tent, sopping wet with her heels in her hand.

“Whoa, Clarke. What the fuck?”

“Not now, Raven. Have you seen Lexa?”

Raven waggles her eye brows. “Lexa, huh?”

“Raven! Seriously! Have you seen her? I have to—she— _fuck_. I need to talk to her.”

She doesn’t get to, of course. Because Lexa is long gone and no one knows what hotel she’d chosen to stay in for the weekend.

That doesn’t stop her from spending the rest of the night huddled in Raven’s hotel room, the three friends working tirelessly to send text to the former Woods couple’s mutuals. Octavia tries Lincoln first, but he doesn’t know. Clarke tries Nylah who tries Anya who won’t pick up. Raven calls Wick who shoots a text to Roan who shoots a text to Clarke…to which Clarke has to explain that no, she doesn’t have her ex’s new number, the inquiry is _for_ her.

“We could always start calling hotels. Start with the five-star ones since that’s undoubtedly where she’ll be,” Octavia suggests, somewhat wryly.

“Yeah and Miller said—“

“That Monty said—“

“That he could maybe even get into the servers and look at guest names and rooms.” Raven has an all too eager glistening in her eyes that makes Clarke chuckle, despite that fact that her insides feel like they’re ripping apart. She shakes her head and closes the tab with Lexa’s Facebook profile up, shuts the lid of Raven’s computer and grabs her purse from the floor. All silently. All with her friends’ eyes on her.

“It’s—it’s too late. We had our chance once and it’s just not. It’s just not meant to be. I’ll go home tomorrow morning, she won’t be,” she waves her hands around, “everywhere, and life will go back to the way it was.”

She knows they don’t accept that, but by the grace of god, they let her leave without much trouble. The tears don’t fall until she’s walked down the hall, out the lobby and onto the unfamiliar Atlanta streets that feel big and scary at night without Lexa’s arm wrapped protectively around her waist.

She orders an Uber once she’s sure the tears have stopped and shutters out a long, much needed sigh when she clicks her seatbelt in place and lets her head fall back against the seat.

The lights of the city bounce across her closed eyelids, drawing small smiles to her face now and again when the light catches just so and reminds her of something nice. Something warm. Something beautiful and sweet and safe. Something full of love.

_She can feel her fingers tracing the shadows that bounce across her face. Can feel her warm lips urging at the corner of her mouth, her cheeks, her temple and ear and collarbone and everywhere else she can reach until Clarke gives a sleepy little chuckle and opens her eyes._

_She smiles against the vision of Lexa leaning over her, haloed in the gold of the morning light streaming through the curtains._

_“Good morning, wife,” Lexa whispers, voice all raspy and quiet from too little sleep for all the best reasons._

_Clarke hums, smile barely containable when she presses up to kiss her._

_“Clarke?”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“Clarke?”_

_“What?”_

_“M’am? Ms. Griffin?”_

_“Lexa, why—”_

_“M’am wa—“_

//

Clarke physically jumps when a heavy hand lands on her shoulder and she jolts awake. Her driver gives her a lopsided smile then beckons towards the building outside. “We here.”

“Oh.” Clarke rubs at her eyes, yawns, and nods. “Thank you. Sorry about that.”

Her minds is still attempting to drag itself out of the memory as she closes the door and cups her hand uselessly above her eyes against the rain. It blocks her view more than it does any water which is exactly why she almost misses her. But when she lowers her hand to slide her card key to get into the lobby door, she sees her. Sopping wet. Shivering slightly. Eyes wide, a little scared, and so, so green.

“Clarke.” It’s little more than the puff of warm air that vaporizes out into the night.

She almost can’t remember how to speak. Or she just doesn’t want to. Terrified of what might happen if she does and nothing right comes out. She just shakes her head and takes a step forward because she can’t not.

“I—“ Lexa rubs at the back of her neck and shrugs, and Clarke nods, a small smile tugging at her lips because, _yeah._

Lexa chuckles and lets her hands falls with a dull slap to her thighs. “I don’t know how to do this,” she murmurs.

The words reverberate through Clarke so poignantly, she almost buckles. There’s a lump in her throat, and once again, she’s not sure when it showed up. She nods, because she gets it. She knows what Lexa’s doing. She just hopes she can remember what she said. All those nights ago. Holding onto Lexa’s hands and staring into her big, scared eyes right before she’d knelt down and changed their lives forever.

She takes another step forward and wraps her arms around herself. “I’m right here.”

The relief on Lexa’s face makes Clarke want to laugh and cry and jump and scream, because this is theirs. All theirs. “I don’t know how to do this,” Lexa repeats, “but I know what I want.”

“What do you want?” Clarke fills quickly, it all coming back to her now as if it’d been yesterday.

“You,” Lexa promises, “just you.”

Clarke shrugs and laughs and cries. Her hands come to her face and she shakes her head when she feels Lexa step into her space. But Lexa just continues on until their hands are together and she can peel them away from Clarke’s face.

“I should have gone after you, Clarke. Five years ago. I should have never let you walk out that door or sign those papers, but I thought I was doing what was best for you. It took me a year to figure out I was just being selfish and weak because it was easier to let myself think we didn’t deserve each other than it was to fight. And by then it was too late because I made you hate me. But I never stopped thinking about it. Or you, Clarke. And when I saw you today, I thought I might actually keel over. You were so…are… so beautiful, Clarke. I just. I’m so sorry. I never should have let you go.”

“Lex. I—“ Clarke has to clear her throat, flabbergasted and moved and in love, and that damn knot is back and not helping. “I don’t…I don’t hate you. I never hated you. I—fuck, Lexa.” God, she’s not prepared for this. Her hands are shaking and her legs hurt from holding her up when all she wants to do is collapse with the gravity of it all. But she stands her ground and summons everything she has to finally just be raw and honest.

“I…fuck it. I love you. I’ve always loved you. I don’t know what to do, but I know I want you too and—“

And finally it goes something like a Romance movie. Lexa kisses her into silence, her cold, wet hands gripping onto Clarke’s cheeks like she might disappear into the rain if she lets go. And Clarke lets her. She lets herself be held and she lets herself hold.

There aren’t any fireworks, because it’s nothing new. It’s nothing exciting or celebratory or exuberant except in the way that home sometimes feels like that after a long day at work, and all you want is the sound of her key in the door and the feeling of her lips on yours and her body working you into your couch in your home with the welcome matt you picked out and the paint color your argued over on the walls and your coats on the floor on the rug you ordered from that one over-priced store because it was just the thing you’d both had been looking for.

There are no fireworks because Lexa is not a conquest or a celebration. She’s just Lexa. Her Lexa. With the glasses and the dopey grin and the serious eyes and big, gentle hands. Her Lexa that’d argued over which coffee table to get and then had promptly made love to her on it the day it arrived. Her Lexa who sits at her desk and directs hundreds of people in sustaining a multi-billion dollar business, but sulks like a child when it’s too cold out and curls up with tea and her head in Clarke’s lap when she’s tired. This Lexa is so much better than fireworks.

This Lexa is love. Pure, unadulterated, familiar, cultivated love. _Her_ love.

When Lexa releases the sweetest, softest of whines, Clarke forces herself to pull away, wanting nothing more than to take in that face she’d only sort of been able to miss because it showed up in her dreams every night.

She has to blink several times, to clear the tears, or maybe just the rain, out of her eyes, and then Lexa is there with her thumbs to brush it all away.

“I—“ Clarke whispers and Lexa brings their foreheads together. “I missed that,” Clarke half sighs, half laughs.

“I didn’t think I could miss anything more than I missed you, but I was wrong,” Lexa teases, albeit breathlessly.

“Oh?”

Lexa nods. “I don’t think I’ll ever miss anything more than I missed the feeling of your lips.”

Clarke is silent in awe of this crazy, amazing woman in front of her before she chuckles and shakes her head. “You’re a nut.”

“Can I…can I be your nut? Again? Do you think?”

Clarke doesn’t have to think or hesitate. Those can be done later. “Yeah, Lex,” she sighs. “You can be my nut.” Because for now, all she wants to do is go home.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: I'd really love something with dapper lexa 

Lexa is tired and on edge after a full day of idiotic subordinates and relentless stupidity at work by the time she gets Clarke's text, and if her weren't for her desire to see her as soon as possible, she'd flat out say no. But the idea of waiting for Clarke to get back from Happy Hour with her friends before being able to see and hold her makes something ache deep within the ligaments and muscles of her tense shoulders and back, so she reluctantly acquiesces and makes plans to meet her wife at The Ark Bar and Grille after work.

 

Her eyes flick to the clock between every page of the fifty-page report she is excruciatingly making her way through and she feels like a school girl all over again. She's antsy and annoyed and wound so tight she has to dig her finger into the loop of her maroon tie and yank it looser.

 

As she gets to the twentieth page, and it's even more poorly drafted than the other nineteen, the subtle popping behind her eyes grows in intensity and she has to rock back in her chair and groan until it stops. The fingers she pushes into her temples help but not for long. Not when Anya knocks, grimaces apologetically, and delivers her a pile of intern applications she'd forgotten all about.

 

By the time she turns off her office lights, shuts and locks the door, and makes her way down the sixty-five floors to her building's lobby, her fingers ache from signing and marking up the reports, her shoulders twinge from hunching over her desk and her head still throbs something fierce.

 

To add to it, she's fuming. Every step she takes pisses her off for no good reason other than the fact that _everything_ is pissing her off because Nia Azgeda won't stop trying to take steal her company secrets, all of her intern applicants are under-qualified, moronic fuckboys from Harvard that ooze bullshit all over their resumes, and worst of all, she has to sit through at least a couple of hours of mindless small talk and forced smiles before she gets to curl up with her warm wife and fall asleep.

 

She feels like a shook soda can, ready to explode by the time she walks into the bar and is assaulted by the poor music choices and smell of cheap booze. She’s weary of all the people, especially the men in their crappy suits and sleazy grins. The Ark had never been her favorite place to congregate given its close quarters to the Financial District which too often led to the occupants of the bars in that area being both the scummiest scum of the earth _and_ those who look at her a little too long signaling that they know who she is and aren’t afraid to stare.  She never can quite find the heart to tell Clarke she hates the place, and so her wife continues to make it her go-to hangout with all the good intentions of choosing it due to its proximity and convenience to Lexa’s work. She loves Clarke even more for it, even if her hate for the place grows by the second.  

 

 

 

Her body floods with relief when she finally spots said wife at the bar surrounded by Raven and Octavia and a few Lexa recognizes but can’t quite put a name to. She feels a fleeting but familiar pang of guilt in her chest at the thought, knowing full well that her busy schedule rarely leaves time for socializing with Clarke’s friends, leaving her somewhat awkward and out of touch around them. But Clarke is unyielding in her support and understanding of her career, proud even (something Lexa's still not quite used to) and she appreciates it more than could ever begin to think about articulating. She settles for trying to make her feel as loved as Clarke does for her, and then some.

 

When she finally manages to push her way up to the bar, Clarke is in her arms, nearly wrapped around her hips, immediately. "Hey," she murmurs and sighs into the top of Clarke’s head. When Clarke turns her head and kisses the corner of her mouth in response, she tangles her fingers in her hair, enjoys for a moment the feeling of being surrounded by her wife and nothing else.

 

It’s short-lived of course when Raven and Octavia’s wolf-whistles float over the sound of the music and Lincoln pats her heavily on the back in greeting.

 

Reluctantly, she tears herself away from Clarke with a barely-concealed grimace and does her best to be polite when she is immediately bombarded about plans for the weekend and whether or not she and Clarke will join them on the beach and if she’d heard about the Dow crashing and what she thinks about it all and if Jasper (ah yes, that was his name) should sell his Apple shares and if she'll look at Raven's newest invention later and comment on its market potential.

 

The only thing that keeps her from snapping at them to ask her when she’s not exhausted and coming off an eleven day at work, is Clarke’s gentle fingers skating up and down her pack, pressing and massaging the knots between her shoulder blades every once in a while when she feels Lexa take a particularly tense inhale.

 

It’s when Clarke jumps in to turn the attention off of her, shooting Lexa a knowing and sympathetic glance, that she finally feels like she can breathe a little. She leans into Clarke’s side as Clarke leans into hers and lets her mind drift with her fingers back in Clarke’s hair and Clarke’s hand caressing the nape of her neck

 

“Hey, I’m gonna head to the lady’s room. Lex?”

 

It’s the sound of her name in Clarke’s voice that draws her attention back and she smiles, tired but in love, and follows her wife down a dark hall towards the bathroom. But they don’t go in. Instead, Clarke drags her by the hand through a back door, out into an alley way that is completely empty save for a dumpster and a few broken bottles on the ground.

 

“What are we doing?”

 

“Taking a breather. Comere.” Clarke opens her arms and pulls Lexa in, smiling a smile that permeates through even her most aggravated layers and settles heavy and warm inside her. “Work beat you up today, didn’t it?”

 

Lexa nods against Clarke’s shoulder and sighs, letting those nimble fingers continue persuading her muscles into submission.

 

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

 

“I’d rather take you home and touch you until I forget what the words ‘industrial espionage’ mean.”

 

Lexa misses her blush because she’s still hell bent on keeping her face buried in the crook of Clarke’s neck, but she hears the way her wife’s breath hitches and that makes her smile.

 

“So Nia, then?”

 

She nods again, and let’s out a longer, heavier, exaggerated sigh that has Clarke chuckling. “I’m sorry, baby.”

 

“It’s okay,” she sighs. "Copying is the most sincere form of flattery." 

 

"And who told you that?" 

 

Lexa pauses to smile. "You did." 

 

"Mmm. Smart, brilliant, amazing," she bolsters and Lexa laughs until Clarke places her hands on her shoulders and forces her upright for a good study.

 

Lexa can’t help but stare at the way Clarke’s eyes flit over her body, unashamed in their obvious approval which leaves Lexa feeling giddy and cocky like she’s back in high school flirting with her first crush.

 

“This is a nice suit,” Clarke murmurs, fiddling with her starched collar, fixing its turn-down. “Is it the new one?”

 

Lexa nods and watchers her with fierce admiration and adoration as Clarke brushes her shoulders smooth and runs her hand down her tie, lapels, and pocket square. It’s all habitual and needless fiddling that Lexa has grown accustomed to but leaves her feeling loved and domestic, all the same, and all kinds of wonderful that only Clarke manages to bring out in her.  

 

“It’s looks good. You look good,” Clarke sighs. “Is that the tie I got you?”

 

Lexa hums, catching Clarke’s wrists in her hands and bringing them up to kiss at each and every one of her smooth knuckles. “Yeah. I love it, thank you.”

 

“It goes nice with the grey. I'm glad you like it.”

 

“Love it,” she corrects. 

 

Clarke smiles. “Love it.”

 

“And I love you.”

 

This draws a happy, content sigh from Clarke that has Lexa yearning to taste it on her lips. So she does, She leans in and kisses her, long and indulgent and deep because this time no one is watching. This time she doesn’t hesitate to slip her tongue into Clarke’s mouth and lap up every tiny moan and sigh that spills out.

 

“Can we go home?” She pants and almost moans in relief when Clarke nods and drags them back inside for the quickest 'good byes' she’s ever said in her life.

 

Then, of course, the car ride is too long and the traffic deplorable, but somehow Clarke makes it okay with her hand on Lexa’s thigh and her lips on her neck.

 

She feels like a whole other kind of exploding now, one touch away from bursting into a million pieces, but the sight of the beach and thus their nearing home comes just in time.

 

She’s gentle when she helps Clarke out of the car, but everything inside of her is clawing and throbbing and aching to be let out. She practices a restraint above and beyond the call of human possibility, she thinks, and lets her wife lead them slowly up their front stairs and through the front door, all the while giving her those looks that Lexa once thought might kill her poor, little gay and nerdy heart back in college.

 

When Clarke bites her lip and turns so that she’s walking backwards, beckoning her with a crooked finger and devilish eyes, she thinks maybe not much has changed since then when she feels her heart stutter and stall and start back up again at the twice the rate.  

 

“Clarke—“

 

Clarke just shakes her head and continues to lead her down the hallway and then up the stairs to their bedroom. “Don’t,” she implores when Lexa goes to start peeling out of her suit. “Let me.”

 

It’s both sexy and excruciating because she knows that means she’s in for a long night of Clarke’s infamous teasing; the kind that once made her quake in the knees and struggle to breathe as a virgin in college with the school’s most beautiful girl in her bed, straddling her for reasons that were then (and still now sometimes) beyond her.

 

“Clarke—“ It’s nothing more than a whispered squeak and if anyone else were to hear it Lexa would be mortified, but the way it makes Clarke beam at her and blush all at the same time makes Lexa swoon and swell so that suddenly Clarke is in her arms, giggling and squirming. Lexa can’t help but laugh as she carries her the rest of the way up the stairs and drops her on their oversized bed.

 

Clarke whines and reaches out when Lexa goes for her tie again, but Lexa just swats her hand away and quirks her brow in a harmless warning. “Tonight is not the night for that, my love,” she says as she quickly shucks out of her clothes. “The day has been too long, and you are too splendid to expect such patience from mere mortals.”

 

Clarke chuckles and sits up running her hands up Lexa’s bare stomach. “I don’t think it’s fair to call yourself a mortal with these,” she says, tracing every dip and swell of Lexa’s well-manicured abs.

 

Lexa just grins and goes for Clarke’s shirt, but her wife beats her and strips down to her underwear so quickly it leaves Lexa's head spinning and her mouth dry as she struggles to remember how to breathe, and feels herself growing wet.

 

“Clarke—“

 

It’s desperate now, and Clarke knows when enough is enough. For which Lexa is eternally grateful. She sighs in relief when she peels Lexa out of her boxer briefs before peeling out of her own black lace, then let’s Lexa press her down into the mattress with her warm, solid weight. 

 

“You’re so tense,” she whispers, running her hands up the impossibly hard ridges of Lexa’s back, noting the firms swells that don’t belong.

 

Lexa nods and concentrates on her arms to make sure they don’t collapse and drop her completely onto Clarke. She trusts no part of her body right now.

 

“Just be here. With me,” her wife whispers and Lexa nods again because she not sure what ungodly noise might come out of her mouth if she tries to speak. Especially not when Clarke takes one of her hands and guides it between her legs.

 

It takes a little bit of urging because Lexa is lost in fantasy land for a second, but in a moment she is back and eager to please, much to Clarke's heady amusment. “You’re so wet, already,” she sighs and Clarke smiles.

 

“Yeah. You do that to me, baby.”

 

Their heads knock together and they each let out their own form of a gasped shutter when Lexa delves deeper and runs her finger up the entirety of Clarke’s wetness, spreading it around and loving every second of Clarke’s soft, little moans and hitched breath. “Clarke—“

 

“Hmm.”

 

“I love you.”

 

Clarke kisses her, long and sweet and slow until her lips ache slightly and her tongue feels numb. “I love you too,” she pants.

 

Sometimes they’re slow, sometimes fast, their six years of marriage cultivating favorites and preferences and tempos for all kinds of moods and weather and moments. But today somehow feels like both and all. They’re desperate and urgent and building quicker than either of them can hope to hold onto, and yet it’s soft and warm and loving and slow enough that Lexa thinks between the two of them they’ve probably managed to whisper something akin to the whole of their vows to each other; sweet, little words and promises that break both of their hearts simply because it’s too much to contain without busting.

 

When Clarke locks her ankles at the base of Lexa’s back and buries her face in the crook of her neck with a heady whine that sends chills rippling through her skin, Lexa knows her wife is close and it jolts her so suddenly to her own edge she has to take a deep breath and think about her reports to stave off a premature finish.

 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Clarke pants, sensing her withdrawls, “stay here.”

 

“I’m--I am. I’m here,” She promises.

 

“Come with me.”

 

Lexa nods and closes her eyes, forearm burning but so, so worth every sound and shudder and kiss she earns for it. “Okay.”

 

“Are you close?”

 

She huffs and nods and pants and smiles when Clarke kisses up her jaw and reburies into her cheek. “Me too,” her wife whispers and that just about does it.

 

“I’m—“ She stutters and Clarke just nods frantically, pulling back to press their lips together.

 

“Me too,” Clarke pants against them, “fuck, me too.”

 

Clarke cries out and Lexa feels those fingers dig into her back, this time any trace of gentleness gone in the crescent moons being pressed into her skin.

 

“Lex, I’m—“ Clarke shutters and wraps around her, hands gripping desperately at her shoulders and pulling her in so hard it almost hurts, but Lexa loves it. She loves the way Clarke grips onto her, so tight and desperate, making her feel wanted and need and loved. It's too much and not enough all at the same time.

 

“Lex, I’m- I'm coming. I’m coming,” she pants over and over until it’s just a whisper and then just the slightest twitch of her mouth as she freezes for the longest few seconds of Lexa’s life.  

 

Lexa wraps a free hand around her and presses against her arched back, holding and supporting and loving as best she can through her own mind-blowing, earth shattering orgasm until Clarke finally implodes and collapses back onto the bed, shaking and panting and somewhere between crying and laughing. Lexa kisses at it all the same.

 

“That. That was—“ Clarke takes a deep, deliberate breath and Lexa can hear her trying to regain control over her breathing. She does the same. “I think that was the best of the week.”

 

Lexa smiles and rolls off of her only to be reunited with her again when Clarke follows and maneuvers onto her chest. She absentmindedly skirts up the long, sweaty expanse of Clarke’s back and for a fleeting moment, wonders if she needs to up her mile count on her morning runs again because she should not be breathing this hard.

 

“What do you think?”

 

Lexa peers down at her with sleepy eyes and a content smile. “Ten out of ten, babe.”

 

“Wow, that good, huh? Guess we don’t need to try again, then.”

 

Lexa freezes. “I…I didn’t say that.”

 

Clarke grins and shrugs. “I don’t know…you've had a long day and you look pretty tired.”

 

She blinks hard and urges the sleep from her eyes with almost petulant fervor. “Uh, no. Nope. Not at all.”

 

“No?”

 

“Not even a little.”

 

Clarke hums and flops over onto her back. Lexa’s eyes follow her and unabashedly drinks in her wife’s naked form sprawled out beside her. She turns on her side and props up on her elbow when, after several moments, looking just isn’t enough anymore. “Hey.”

 

Clarke opens her eyes and peers at her with a subtle smile. “What do you want?”

 

Lexa scoots closer and places a soft kiss onto her nearest breast. “Can I go down on you?”

 

And no, she's definitely not tired anymore. 


	30. Count to Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Maybe a prompt where clarke is on a date or is being hit on by a douche, cue Lexa for the rescue, they start talking, maybe some steamy activities take place..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Lexa is an awkward bean with anger management problems and Clarke is 100% enamored and amused.

There are two things Lexa hates most in the world. Gross men and gross men hitting on pretty girls who clearly don’t want their attention.  
  
But it’s none of her business she tells herself as she watches the beautiful girl with blonde hair and a sharp tongue bark at the men who get too close.  
  
It’s none of her business until one of them puts their hand on the woman’s thigh and she sees her actually drain in color, her pretty blue eyes going wide and her whole demeanor changing from strong and defiant to small and scared.  
  
She counts to ten in her head as she walks over and reminds herself of the absolutely relentless lecture she’d gotten from Anya the night her CFO had to bail her out of jail and deal with the press. Luckily for Lexa, America had seemed to love her a little more for it, dubbing her the Fortune 500’s Resident Bad Girl and CEO Most Likely to Get Shit Done.  
  
It’s not a title she carries around with pride but it’d gotten her by relatively unscathed so far and had even gifted to her a couple useful tools to deal with her anger.  
  
One of which being the counting.  
  
Which is absolutely is not working.  
  
By the time she makes it over to the woman she is practically huffing and puffing in indignation and doesn’t trust herself to do anything other than shimmy in between the predator and the woman, and sit down on the stool next to her with no explanation.  
  
The woman looks at her bewildered, relieved and amused all at the same time and she can only imagine what a sight to be seen she must be– all 5'11 of her brooding frame hunched on a stool that’s a little two small and a little too close, not making eye contact except to glare at the man as he sulks away.  
  
“Well, hello there,” the woman finally chuckles with smiling eyes and Lexa wonders if maybe this was a terribly idea, because wow.

And all she can do is huff out a snipped hello, her arms folded tightly against her chest…in anger or nerves, she’s not sure.  
  
“Uh…” The woman looks around confused but still amused, that much is apparent in the upturn of her lips. Lexa thinks she’s got great lips. “Can I? Would you? Um.” She chuckles and that makes Lexa want to smile but she’s still too pissed, and definitely overwhelmed by this woman who is even prettier up close and for sure a million miles out of her league.  
  


“So normally I’m not into the broody, stoic, silent types,” she starts, seemingly having found her words,  “but you’ve got nice eyes and make me vaguely uncomfortable but in kind of a fun way so…I’m Clarke. And you?”  
  
Lexa unlocks her jaw and licks her lips . “Sorry I–and they were–so I–” She tries to explain as she points around and shrugs. She shuts up as soon as she realizes nothing coherent is coming out, certainly not when Clarke is smiling at her like that. “Lexa. I–Lexa.”  
  
“Lexa. That’s a good name. I’m Clarke.”  
  
“You said that.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
Lexa doesn’t mind the silence that follows because it gives her time to just stare at the beauty before her, but social decorum is screaming at her to do something other than be an awkward lump so she sits up begins to scoot off the stool.  
  
“I’m sorry. I’ll just go. I should go. I–yeah. I’ll go.”  
  
  
  
Clarke is intrigued to say the least. She’s certainly never had anyone quite so attractive in front of her,  and she’d definitely never experienced someone make such a bold entrance and then proceed to go completely silent and look utterly lost.  
  
That’s what she tells herself explains the mild panic she feels when Lexa starts to get up and stutter some more in that sweet, raspy voice of hers.  
  
“No, don’t!” She blurts, surprising herself and startling the strange, but fascinating woman in front of her. She’s relieved though when Lexa stills and nods like she’s unsure, but nods none the less.  
  
“Okay…”  
  
“Sorry I just. You don’t have to go. Anyone who inserts themselves into a shitty situation on my behalf like you did with that guy is okay in my book.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“More than okay, even.”  
  
When Lexa finally gives her a tiny smile it is more than worth the wait and she’s not at all amiss to the way it flutters in her chest. It’d been a while since she’d had a crush and it almost takes her by surprise with how sudden and quickly they can come on.  
  
It’s nice though. There’s something about this woman sitting in a dive bar in a 3-piece suit that looks like it costs more than three months rent that makes her feel giddy and excited for no reason at all.  
  
“So what was your plan, Sir Gawain?”  
  
Lexa gives her another one of those smiles and Clarke feels it tingle all the way up from her toes to her nose.  "Oh, I’m no knight.“  
  
“But you got the reference. So that means you’re smart.  I like smart.”  
  
Lexa shakes her head and chuckles. “It’s not exactly a particularly challenging piece of literature.”  
  
“Listen to you. Touché.”  
  
They grin at each other and Clarke can feel herself being sized up. She doesn’t mind. In fact, it emboldens her.  
  
“So maybe you’re not a knight, but you’re certainly chivalrous. Coming over here all flared up, guns cocked to scare away that asshole.”  
  
“Civic duty.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
Lexa nods with a grin and hails down the bartender. Clarke likes how she  
makes it look so smooth and easy and doesn’t hesitate when Lexa offers her another. 

“You can put it on my tab. Woods,” Lexa offers to the bartender. 

“Ah.” 

Lexa quirks her head and suddenly Clarke is overtaken with the distinct notion that Lexa looks like a puppy dog. “What?” 

“Woods. As in Woods Tower downtown, right?” 

Lexa nods. 

“Thought so. So you’re attractive, chivalrous, _and_  successful. Quite the catch, aren’t you?” 

“That’s all in the eye of the beholder.” 

Clarke smiles, and it feels flirty. It feels good. “Well, I’m the beholder. And I think you’re quite the catch.” 

 

Lexa can only stare back at Clarke, and when Clarke holds her gaze it makes her a little light headed. She flicks her eyes across Clarke’s features, trying to discern if this is really happening, but mostly she just gets distracted in how pleasant the symmetry of Clarke’s face is. 

“Do you…do you maybe wanna get outta here?” She asks, emboldened by Clarke’s shameless flirting.

It’s bold and strange and sort of new for her. At least lately. For the past several months she’d been too exhausted all the time to even think about taking someone home, but something had brought her to this shitty bar tonight. And sitting there, staring at this woman who references old Medieval poems and calls her attractive despite her oozing awkwardness, makes her want to just live a little. 

And on top of all that, she feels her old college confidence slipping back into her muscles like learning how to ride a bike. 

When Clarke bites her lip and nods, all bets are off. She’s barely containable when she hops up and extends her hand, drawing Clarke up with her. 

“Your tab?” 

“I’ll close it later.” 

“Can you do that?” 

Lexa slips into her coat and brazenly places her hand on the small of Clarke’s back. She nearly smacks herself for the nerve and audacity, but before she can pull away and apologize, Clarke leans back into the touch and lets herself be guided away from the bar. 

“We have an understanding,” Lexa remembers to reply. 

//

 

Normally, Lexa doesn’t do this. Normally, by now, Lexa would be at home icing her knuckles and sipping broodily over some wine as she recalls and regrets the events of the night that led her there, pissed off and alone. 

But something about Clarke had made her want to be calm long enough to get to know her, rather than just storm in long enough to make the gross male scamper away with a bloody nose and his tale between his legs, and meanwhile, the woman she’d been attempting to rescue is too shocked to stick around. But Clarke had been different. Clarke had been… _something._

And that’s how she’d gotten here, with her hand between Clarke’s legs and Clarke’s lips on her neck and her voice, that sweet, sweet voice, moaning and gasping and whining in her ear. 

She feels something building inside of her and it’s so similar in intensity to what normally carries her into her blind fits of rage that it almost startles her into a full stop. But then Clarke is there, kissing and soothing as if she knows her and feels her and understands her and it’s all a lot to handle because none of this was supposed to go like this. 

“Hey,” Clarke whispers, bringing her hands up to cradle her cheeks, “focus.”

“Sorry,” she whispers with what she knows must be one dazed and dopey grin. After all, she has her fingers inside who she’s pretty sure is the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen. 

“You’re doing great,” Clarke pants, and the low, guttural moan that follows makes Lexa’s toes curl. 

“Oh yeah?” 

Clarke’s head falls back and her eyes shut and her mouth hangs open and Lexa is almost too distracted by the sight of it all to hear Clarke’s soft and whimpered hum. But she does hear it and it only makes her try harder. 

“That–yeah. Good. Mhm. Good.” 

“How very eloquent of you,” Lexa teases and chuckles at the dull thud of Clarke’s attempted retaliatory slap on her back. 

“Do you always talk this much during sex?” 

“No, but you’re entertaining.” 

Clarke eyes fly open and Lexa receives a terrifying glare. “Yeah no, entertaing isn’t sexy. You should probably just go back to doing that thing with your fingers.” 

“This thing?” 

Clarke gasps and arches so hard off the bed, Lexa has to shift to accomodate her. “Oh fuck. Yeah. Mhm. Yeah, keep doing that.” 

“You like that?” 

“Lex, shh. Please. For the sake of both of us.” 

Lexa laughs and kisses her. “You don’t like my voice?” 

Clarke smiles and rolls her eyes, and Lexa really likes it when she presses her face into the crook of her neck. Like really likes it. 

“No actually you’re voice is really nice. Sexy. But your fingers are nicer and sexier, and I don’t know if you know this about yourself, but you’re not great at multi tasking. And I’ve been really close to coming for like…I don’t know probably like five minutes after we started because you’re really fucking good at this, but I need you to stop talking and finish me before I explode.” 

It comes out just like that. All one long stream of words and no breaths, panty and quick and desperate and somehow it gives Lexa chills and makes her clench, but now she’s determined. She strokes harder and faster and deeper and tries to not get lost in how good it all feels.

“Oh. Oh shit.” Clarke gasps in a clipped whisper like she’s surprised and pleased all at once and it’s dangerous because it appeals to Lexa’s pride and things never end well when that happens.

Except when it does. 

Clarke is absolutely stunning when she comes. 

“Now that’s,” Clarke gasps, trying to catch her breath “more like it.”

Lexa hums, cocky and content.

“How are you so good at that?” 

“Practice.” 

Clarke scrunches up her nose. “Maybe let’s go back to the no talking thing.” 

Lexa cocks her head in that puppy dog way again and frowns. “Why?” She smirks. “Jealous?” 

Clarke throws one hand over her forehead and fans herself with the other. “I don’t know. Maybe? Is that weird? Can I be jealous if we just met?” 

“Sure.” 

“Hm. Okay, then yeah. Maybe. Maybe I’m a little jealous.”

“So then…” Lexa ventures, turning to her side and propping herself up on an elbow. “Do you wanna maybe do this again sometime?” 

Clarke peers up at her with eyes squinting against the overhead light. “I thought we’d established that you’re smart.”  

“Is that…is that a yes?” 

Clarke chuckles and flops over, settling onto Lexa’s chest. “Yeah. Yes. Definitely a yes.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can send me your prompts at ecfandom.tumblr.com!


	31. Snow Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: first snowday of the year and clexa spends it together and it's really fluffy.

The snow comes in guesses at first as if its confused by the leaves still on the trees and the people still in the park. Nervous and timid, it comes in the night and is gone by the morning, leaving only cold, little streams in the street as evidence.

Clarke waits for it with her palms on the window, eager and anxious and five all over again.

It’s past due by now. Everything else is set- the lights are up, the cookies are in the oven, the scented seasonal candles take their place when Lexa insists she be careful with the sugar, and the carols are on low and repeat.

All that’s missing is that first heavy snow. The kind you can feel coming because everything grows still and quiet like the world is holding its breath.

“Hey, C? Can you come help me with this?”

Clarke peels herself off the window and trots barefoot into the kitchen, shivering slightly from her cold hands, in nothing but Lexa’s too-big Oxford.

“How’s this?” Lexa slips a spoon of something amazing into her mouth. Her head slides back and she moans, low and gutteral.

“Amazing.”

Lexa’s eyes sparkle. “Yeah?”

“It’s perfect, babe.”

“How’s the time?”

Clarke hops onto the counter and smiles when Lexa smacks her hand away from the heaping pile of steaming cookies. “Almost 5:15.”

“They’re coming at 6, right?”

Clarke nods as she sucks some whipped cream off her finger.

“Perfect. I’m all set.”

“So…”

Lexa grins in contrived exasperation when Clarke bites her lip and wiggles her eye brows. “What are you up to, you minx?”

Clarke raises the can of miracle whip. “Wanna play?”

 

//

 

  
Lexa is still licking at the remains of whipped cream between Clarke’s legs when the first knock comes.

Clarke is too busy trying to catch her breath and still her shaking thighs to do much more than nod when Lexa pats her leg, kisses her hip and tells her to come down stairs when she’s dressed and ready.

By the time Clarke makes her way down, Bellamy, Gina and Raven are all sitting on her couch drinking spiked apple cider in front of her fireplace.

The fire had been a nice touch and she smiles at how well Lexa had gotten it blazing.

“Clarke! You’re alive!”

“Hey guys.”

“How’d you sleep?”

Clarke pauses, head cocked and mouth open in confusion. “Wha…um, sorry?”

Lexa sweeps in behind her with her hand on the curve of her back. “I let them know you were just getting up from a nap.”

Clarke feels the blush curl around the neckline of her sweater and she tries to hide it with something that comes out sounding like a strangled chuckle. “Oh. Yeah, I slept…well. I slept well, yeah. Thanks.”

She knows her friends well enough to know they don’t buy it. Especially not with Raven smirking at her and nudging Gina in the ribs, but there’s another knock at the door and soon her apartment is filled with Finn, Echo, Octavia, Lincoln and Anya.

By the time they’re running low on the first batch of spiked cider, Jasper, Miller and Monty show up with a couple of girls nobody seems to know, followed by Harper, Monroe and a disgruntled looking Roan.

“He stepped in a snow melt puddle,” Harper explains with a flick of her wrist towards Roan’s sour face. Everyone moans in sympathy and Raven even moves over on the couch to offer him a place in front of the fire.

 

“Looking good, Mrs. Woods.” Lexa wraps her arms around Clarke like a belt and rests her chin on her shoulder, surveying their full home.

Clarke turns her head and grabs a quick kiss. “You did so good with the food.”

“Yeah?”

“The cookies were amazing.”

“Your mom’s recipe.”

“Really?” Clarke looks delighted and it makes Lexa kiss her.

“She gave it to me a couple weeks ago when we got coffee.”

“You got coffee with my mom?” The thought makes her melt.

“Hey lovebirds! Get over here!”

And the night follows as such with the fire eventually burning down to embers and the group doubled over in laughter from a game of Never Have I Ever.

“Classic.”

“Okay but that’s not fair.”

“Oh come on!”

“No, like everyone here is queer of some kind!”

“Aw, look! Jasper’s sad to finally be the minority!”

“Oh fuck off!”

They all laugh as Jasper takes a begrudging sip, though still all in good fun.

“Wait…Bellamy, why aren’t you drinking?”

Bellamy shoves his glasses up his nose and shrugs. “I’ve made out with a member of both sexes.”

The newest member of the group “ah"s until Raven jerks and turns wildly towards Lexa.

“Wait. Lexa?! You’ve kissed a dude?!”

Lexa waves her hand and shoves her face into Clarke back. “I was drunk,” she grunts.

They all chuckle and Clarke twists around in her lap to scratch at the nape of her neck, content and so, so happy.

 

  
//

 

  
By the time the fire is out and the food is gone, Clarke can’t seem to keep her hands off of Lexa.

Whether it’s her face in Lexa’s neck or her arms around her waist when she goes to check the fridge for more booze, they’re attached for the rest of the night.

“We’re out,” Lexa mutters.

“Let’s just kick them out,” Clarke says into her shoulder blade. “I want you in my bed within like,” she pretends to check an invisible watch, “5 minutes.”

Lexa chuckles and they make plans. It’s a miracle when they manage to clear the place an hour later.

 

“That was good," Lexa sighs from the couch, surveying their mess of a living room now that it's empty. 

Clarke looks over at her wife slumped and smiles sleepily at her. “Yeah. Now we just need some snow.”

“I’ve got a good feeling about tonight.”

 

  
//

 

  
Clarke’s shriek wakes Lexa up much too early, but when her wife jumps onto the bed giggling and kissing her awake, she can’t be mad.

  
“It’s snowing!”

  
“Oh?"

“Up!”

  
Lexa groans behind a smile when Clarke scoffs and pulls her out of the bed.

 

  
//

 

  
“So what’s first?”

  
They stand hip to hip surveying the thick three feet of snow covering their apartments courtyard.

  
Clarke scratches her head with a mitten-covered hand. “Snowman?”

  
Lexa holds up the bag of carrots.

  
“Lex!”

  
“What?”

  
“Look at your fingers! Put your gloves on, silly goose.”

  
Lexa eyes her bright pink fingers. “They’re fine.”

  
“Babe, they’re pink.”

  
“I need the dexterity.”

  
Clarke laughs and reaches into Lexa’s coat, pulling her gloves out. “Put ‘em on. I happen to like those fingers. They can’t get frostbite.”

  
“That’d be quite unfortunate.”

  
“Mm. Exactly. Snowman?”

  
Lexa nods quite seriously. “Yes. Let’s do this.”

 

  
//

 

  
By the time they’re done, they have an army of snowmen of all sizes, a fleet of snow angels and piles of snowballs abandoned after Lexa had tackled her and covered in kisses.

  
It’s close to dark when Lexa finally helps her up and leads her into the house, slowly peeling off each piece of cold, wet clothing until Clarke is bare and pink before her.

  
Clarke shivers but doesn’t yield. “Your turn.”

  
Lexa nods and let’s herself be pulled down onto the bed and stripped of her layers, all the while watching Clarke’s every move with wide, adoring eyes.

  
“I’m glad I put gloves on,” she murmurs as she skirts her fingers up Clarke ribs, relishing in every sensation of her warm, soft skin on her finger tips.

  
“Oh yeah?”

Lexa hums.

  
“Show me why.”

  
With a devilish smile, Lexa spends the rest of the night doing just that.

 

  
And its only mildly annoying when she wakes up the next morning to find her car buried under five feet of new snow.


	32. Count to Ten Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Omg like O-M-G that Lexa - knight in awkward af but dapper armor fic was fantastic like truly! Can we maybe get a continuation of that because I can't get enough of awkwardly super into each other Clexa and Lexa's fine dapper gay ass being completely and utterly enamored by Clarke.

“So I met a girl.”

“Oh?”

Clarke nods and continues to push her fork in little tracks through the food on her plate.

She can’t bring herself to look up at Raven. Not with knowing Raven’s feelings towards Alexandra Woods, the Financial District’s “resident bitch” as the young engineer had dubbed her years ago.

“Well are you going to tell me about her…or?

“Um. She’s smart. And very attractive.”

“All good things.”

Clarke nods.

“Is she like….how’d you meet?”

“Picked me up at a bar.”

Raven laughs but silences when she realizes Clarke isn’t joking. “Wait, really? What is this, 1955?”

“It was cute.”

“I bet.”

“She’s great in bed.”

Raven drops her fork and stares at her with a wide grin. “Okay, now we’re talking. How good? Like scale of 1 to 10.”

“Uh…Well it’s complicated.”

“Oh, hun. If it’s complicated it can’t be that good.”

“No, no!” Clarke waves her fork around and apologizes when the piece of broccoli falls off of it and rolls towards Raven. “No, she’s good. She’s really good, but.” She smiles fondly. “She talks a lot.”

“Talks a lot?”

“Mhm.”

“Like while you’re doing it?”

Clarke nods and chuckles at how odd it sounds. But she finds it incredibly endearing even if a little bit distracting.

“Babe, that’s weird.”

“No, I mean.” She shrugs. “I just think she’s maybe a little shy-awkward.”

“Shy- awkward? What the fuck is that?”

“You know. Like, she’s really shy. And so she gets awkward. But also not. Like she’s not awkward in an uncomfortable way. And she’s also really cocky and confident in the really charming way. But she gets nervous and ranty sometimes too. It’s…I don’t know. It’s kind of precious.”

Raven stares at her, smirking, her dinner completely abandoned now. “Oh my god.”

Clarke huffs. “What?”

“You’re smitten.”

Normally she’d deny it. Normally she’d tell Raven not to be ridiculous because it’d only been a couple of weeks and a few dates. Except that Clarke hadn’t stopped thinking about Lexa for those couple of weeks. And she’s smiled through every single one of those dates.

“I like her a lot.”

“Oh.” Raven sits up in her chair, adjusting into closer attention. “Wait, like for real?”

Clarke can only nod.

“Well. Do I get to meet her?”

“That’s sort of what I want to talk to you about.”

“Okay…”

“You know her.”

“Oh my god, tell me it’s not Octavia.”

“What? No. No! Oh my god.”

“Well who is it?”

“I’m… I’m not gonna tell you. I don’t want you having time to make associations that may or may not be true and then go in guns blazing.

"Oh shit, is it Echo Azgeda? It is, isn’t it? That bitch. I fucking hate her, Clarke, what are you thinking?”

“What? No. It’s not Echo, jesus, chill.”

Raven squints at her skeptically.

“All I’ll say is you know her and we’re getting drinks tonight at Grounders. If you’re down.”

Raven groans and slumps back in her chair with a thud. “I really hate that place, dude. Why there?”

“Because she likes it there.”

“So what?”

“So she’s more comfortable there, Rae. Okay? If you don’t wanna come, then don’t. But that’s where we’re going.”

Raven surrenders, wide-eyed and bewildered by Clarke’s intense defensiveness. “Okay, okay, jeez. I’ll go. No need to freak out,” she mutters.

“I just want you to be nice.”

Raven scoffs. “Bitch, I’m always nice.”

 

//

 

The bar is loud tonight and Clarke can’t stop moving. Nylah, the nice and maybe too eager bartender, had already pointed out Clarke’s continuously tapping fingers and asked if she’d like something stronger.

She sticks with her Coke, wanting to be clear headed, and sends up a silent prayer when Lexa walks in moments later.

She figured if she could get Lexa there first, she’d be able to explain and do some preliminary damage control.

Lexa makes her way up to her, cheeks red and slightly out of breath. Clarke thinks she’s stunning and can’t contain the smile when she remembers that Lexa is practically hers by this point.

“Hey. Sorry I’m a little late. Work.” Lexa greets her still a good foot away and stands stock still.

Clarke smiles and takes a moment to take in the tailored suit and perfect hair and adorable glasses. “Are you gonna come closer or what?”

“Yeah, yeah. I just. Yeah.” Lexa runs a hand over the back of her neck and takes a nervous step forward.

Clarke barks in laughter and shakes her head, tugging on the hem of Lexa’s shirt to bring her the last of the way in. “Comere, you nut. I thought we were over this.”

“Over what?”

“You being so shy around me. Come give me a kiss.”

Lexa chuckles and leans in and Clarke hums, still not used to how good those lips feel. When she pulls away, Lexa’s eyes are still closed and she’s got the sweetest, little smile on her face. Clarke leans back in to give it one last quick kiss.

“That’s why,” Lexa sighs.

“Hm?”

“That’s why I’m still shy. Because you’re you and you give me kisses…and yeah.”

Clarke smiles. “And yeah?”

“And yeah! Look at you! You’re–look at you!”

“Seriously nuts,” Clarke chuckles, shaking her head.

“You’re just. You’re YOU. And I’m just…me.”

Clarke scoffs and rolls her eyes as she pulls them closer and situates Lexa’s hands on her hips. “Lexa, you are literally like the sexiest creature walking the planet. AND you’re smart and successful and sweet and funny. To name a few. So Imma need you to shut up,” she teases.

“I’m serious,” Lexa pouts.

“So am I. Lexa, you’re a STEAL. Look at YOU.” She taps her on the nose. “One of these days I’ll make you see it.”

Lexa shrugs. “I know I’m a bit awkward.”

Clarke groans in disbelief. “Seriously? You’re perfect, Lex. Besides, you’re literally a genius and a bit of a workaholic so it makes sense that people make you a little nervous. Nothing to be ashamed of. You just don’t get out much.”

“I do,” Lexa puffs.

“Yeah, like when?”

“With you!”

“Having lots and lots sex doesn’t count, babe. Hate to break it to you.”

“We go out too.”

“For like an hour and then we go home and have sex.”

Lexa considers. “I like having sex with you,” she concludes sincerely.

Clarke chuckles and plants a kiss to her forehead. “Me too. More than you know. But you do need to get out more.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Lexa shrugs. “Sure.”

“So like hypothetically you’d be down for meeting like, say, oh I don’t know…my friend?”

“Friend?”

“Hypothetically like my roommate?”

“You have a roommate?”

“Hypothetically.”

“Okay. You have a hypothetical roommate?”

“Babe, why do you think, hypothetically, we have sex at your place every time?”

“Because my place is really nice?”

“Hm. Touché.”

Lexa chuckles and interlaces their fingers. “Babe.”

“Yeah?”

“This isn’t hypothetical, is it?”

Clarke sighs. “No?”

“So what’s your roommates name?”

Clarke grimaces. “Raven Reyes?”

“You say that like I should know.”

“You don’t?”

“Reyes, you said?”

“Raven. Mhm.”

“Should I?”

“Uh…no?!”

Lexa cocks back somewhat alarmed and Clarke immediately pushes forward to trap and bring her back in.

“No,” she says more calmly, “no not necessarily.”

“Not necessarily? Clarke, what–”

“HER?! Clarke, seriously?!”

Clarke groans and falls to Lexa’s chest as a furious voice comes slicing through the air followed by a very angry engineer.

Clarke sighs and sits back and smiles as best as she can. It resembles nothing like a smile. “Meet my roommate,” she grumbles.

“Alexandra Woods, Clarke? Really?! What’s wrong with you?! How could you?!”

Lexa is first to her feet and all Clarke can do is grab at her sleeve and scramble after. “Lex–”

The two engineers square off, but Lexa stands almost a head taller than Raven and looks considerably mightier. Or perhaps it’s just the rage emanating off of her that Clarke feels when Lexa steps in front of her protectively.

“I don’t know who you are,” Lexa growls, “but if you have a problem with me, you better fucking take it up with me and only me.”

“Lexa–” Clarke puts her hand on Lexa’s back, trying to soothe down the hackles. She rolls her eyes when Raven pushes up her sleeves, clearly making matters worse.

“Oh I can certainly fucking do that, Woods.”

“Well? Spit it out!”

“Raven, please–”

“No, stay out of this, Clarke! You caused this.”

Lexa steps dangerously closer and nearly hisses. “I swear to god, Reyes if you talk to her like that one more fucking time–”

“Okay, that enough!” Clarke stomps forward and shoves herself between the two, sticking her arms out to the side to separate them. “Lexa, this is Raven Reyes. She’s an engineer. Last year during Woods Corp.’s annual call for proposals, Raven submitted hers. She got a nasty rejection letter and needless to say,” she turns and glares at her roommate, “she’s still not over it.”

She takes a deep breath. “And Raven, as you know, this is Lexa. My girlfriend. My sweet, sweet girlfriend who is not the same as the mega corporation who turned down your proposal–No. Let me finish,” she snaps when Raven goes to disagree. “She did not mean to hurt you and I care about her a lot. Okay? So can we all just try to fucking get along? For one night?!”

Lexa nods immediately, guilty and down trodden like a sad puppy until Clarke wraps their hands together and squeezes.

Raven looks like she’s still got some fight left in her with her eyes narrowed and shoulders raised.

Lexa is the first to speak, and it surprises them all.

“I’m sorry, Raven. I will look into what happened with your proposal and the tone of your response letter. I do not write them, as I am too busy, unfortunately. But I assure you anything of a nasty nature is not the policy Of Woods Corp. International. and will be handled swiftly.”

It’s certainly not what Raven was expecting, Clarke can see that instantly in the way that Raven opens her mouth to speak and promptly shuts it, stunned and surprised.

“Rae–” Clarke pleads.

Raven nods and takes the olive branch. “Okay.”

“Yeah? We all good, here?” Clarke asks, looking back and forth between them all.

Lexa extends her hand and Clarke can’t help but smile at the formality of it all. Lexa is consistent if nothing else.

Raven takes it, slowly at first, but soon relents and breaks out into a small grin that makes Clarke nervous.

 

“So, Lexa. I hear you talk a lot in bed.”

 


	33. Oh Professor, My Professor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Idk if you're still taking prompts, but jealous!clarke maybe? And a uni professor Lexa? In glasses?

“You should go talk to her.”

Nothing.

“Clarke,” Octavia tries, a little louder. And yet... still nothing. “Oh my god. Clarke!”

Clarke hadn’t even been aware she’d spaced until a sharp poke to her ribs has her yelping back to reality. “What the hell, O?”

“Go talk to her.”

Clarke looks back in the direction she’d been staring and feels the automatic little flutter in her chest that always comes when her eyes land on Lexa. She sighs. “Not this again, O. Leave it alone.”

“No, yes this again. You’re the one who won’t stop creepily staring at her.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. And it’s gotten worse ever since she said hello to you in the library last week. You need to do something about it before you become even more pathetic.”

Clarke elects to ignore the back half of Octavia’s comment and shrugs. “We’d have nothing to talk about.”

“Sure you would. You’re both professors. Talk about academia.”

Clarke snorts. “I teach art, Octavia. Dr. Lexa Woods has like four higher education degrees and like twice that many books published. I wouldn’t even begin to know where to start.”

“Okay, so.” Octavia looks back over at the professor. “You ask her questions.”

“And risk being annoying?” 

Octavia rolls her eyes. “You're already annoying. I hear she’s a big proponent of the Title X talks going around right now. Even helped the polysci kids draft the open letter to the university. I’m sure there’s something in there you can sympathize with. Being a woman and all.”

Clarke considers, but she’s not sure she’d even be able to keep up with Lexa’s infamous vocabulary and rhetoric, let alone engage her in an interesting conversation.

She takes out a large, distracting bite of sandwich instead of answering. She can feel the mustard ooze out onto the corners of her mouth and of course, it's  _then_  that Lexa chooses to look over at her.

Clarke’s eyes widen comically as she scrambles to turn away and wipe her mouth clean, but she doesn’t miss the way the professor sends her a small smile, chuckling slightly. She’s still too mortified and busy trying to swallow to do anything back, but she certainly hadn’t missed it and she suspects she’ll be carrying around the blush currently burning it’s way up her cheeks for the rest of the day.

“Wow.” Octavia stretches and stands up from the couch in the lounge. “This is just embarrassing.”

Clarke scowls up at her.

“Don’t look at me like that. Go. Talk to her. Before you explode,” the TA adds as she swipes the other half of Clarke’s sandwich.

Grumbling is not typically a thing that Clarke does, but then again, when it came to Dr. Lexa Woods, there was a lot of atypical, mostly embarrassing, things Clarke had recently found herself doing. Grumbling like a child seemed to be one of them.

She hears Octavia greet the professor when she walks past and feels a hint of jealousy spike behind her sternum. She doesn’t even bother stamping it down knowing full well that jealousy would just have to be an unwanted passenger on the Lexa Woods crush train.

She would have glared at her friend if not so fixed on studying Lexa’s every reaction to the greeting–the way she looks up from her book in confusion, her slender finger that pushes up the glasses on her perfect, little nose, and the precious frown that crosses her face when she clearly doesn’t recognize the TA, with jet black hair, ripped jeans and a Metallica t-shirt, waving at her. Clarke watches her brow furrow further in confusion when Octavia shoots her a finger gun.

Clarke smiles, shaking her head, when Lexa’s amazing–like really quite amazing–lips move slowly in a quiet and delayed response. She can tell even from her spot on the other side of the lounge that Lexa is beyond bewildered. It's so unbelievably endearing. She’s still smiling when suddenly Lexa’s eyes land on her next after Octavia has passed. She has, what she’s sure is a mini heart attack, when Lexa shoots her another of those tiny smiles and waves.

It takes her too long to remember to wave back, so that by the time she does, Lexa is already looking at her book again. Her stomach has never dropped so quickly in her life.

She stares a little while longer, hoping to catch Lexa’s eyes again, but her alarm goes off a few minutes later signaling her upcoming class, and she knows she has to leave time to run by her office beforehand as it is. So no more stalling.

She finds herself making more of a fuss then she needs to while packing up her stuff, hoping to draw Lexa’s attention. She rolls her eyes at herself wondering what her students would say about her if they saw it. The very thought makes her groan under her breath and walk past without even looking at Lexa.

“Goodbye, Clarke.”

Clarke’s gate stutters and stops. She turns just her head, suspecting to find that in actuality there is no one there. She can feel herself go bright red when instead of no one, it’s Lexa’s bright green eyes staring up at her.

“Wha-uh. Sorry?”

Lexa smiles and Clarke wishes she could tell her not to do that.

“I said goodbye.”

Clarke had almost forgotten how soft and sweet Lexa’s voice is–it’d been a while since she’d stalked one of Lexa’s lectures– and it’s just one more thing that leaves her feeling warm and giddy on the inside and wishing she could run away or maybe just kiss her.

“Oh. Um thank you. I mean–Um. You too. Bye to you…too?”

Holy shit. Thank god Lexa only smiles at her in response and quickly bows her head back down to her book, allowing Clarke to scamper away in a cloud of self loathing.

She doesn’t stop cursing at herself all the way to her office, and realizes she’s still fumbling and flailing about when one of her student aptly points out that she’s teaching from the wrong textbook, 27 minutes into her lecture.

  
//

  
Her crush only gets worse as the weeks wear on. She can count the number of times she’d spoken to Lexa on one hand, but the amount of times she’d thought about those five encounters couldn’t even begin to be counted on the whole of her students’ hands combined.

It’s one of those moments, a simple soft hello and sweet smile that has Clarke feeling warm and tingly as she crawls into bed with a book she can’t even begin to understand. Her thoughts are elsewhere, her mind occupied with far simpler, more physical, preoccupations as she reads through Lexa’s latest work, but her writing is beautiful none the less, so she forces herself to try to focus.

Halfway through chapter seven, she flips to the back cover, interested in the continuation of jacket art that had caught her attention on the cover, but that turns out to be a mistake.

Lexa’s author picture is stunning. It’s not that she hasn’t seen it before, but somehow this is different. With the book settled low on her hips where she’d held it away to get a better scale of the art, certain things throb and twinge and beg to be attended to no matter how hard she tries to resist.

“You’re killing me,” she mutters, one hand coming up to brush over the picture while the other skims curiously down her stomach.  
Her skin immediately lights up and she knows this is what she needs, no longer able to fight it.

Her fingers slip into her sleep shorts as she situates the book on the pillow next to her.

She’s embarrassed and overwhelmed all at once, but it’s been months since she’s had sex and Lexa is, well…perfect, and really what did the world expect of her? She’s only human. She could only deny herself so much before she did something stupid and pathetic…like touch herself to a picture on a book jacket.

“Oh god,” she moans, both in exasperation with herself at the thought, and at the feeling of her fingers slipping into herself much too easily.

“You’re definitely going to be the death of me,” she whispers before losing all rational thought.

  
//

  
She can’t make eye contact with Lexa the next day, needless to say. In fact, she actually walks in and right back out of the lounge when she spots Lexa sitting on her usual couch with her usual book. But it’s not her usual book, it’s a new one.

Clarke groans at herself for even noticing such a thing, and all but storms out. It takes everything in her to go calmly, but that abruptly ends as soon as she reaches her office. She’s in the middle of tossing a large, unpainted canvas off of her office couch when Octavia shows up in her doorway.

“Hey, Teach.”

“Not now, Octavia.”

“Damn okay. No need to snap.”

Clarke stills in the middle of her office and pinches her fingers into her eyes. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Come in.”

Octavia hesitates, but walks in soon enough and plops down on the couch. “What’s got your panties in a wad?”

“I just.” Clarke throws up her hands and sinks into her desk chair. “I’m a fucking mess.”

“Well yeah, but that’s not news.”

Clarke glares and smacks Octavia’s feet off her desk as soon as the TA kicks them up onto it. “I brought booze.” She raises a handle of vodka.

“I can’t drink on campus.”

“Man, you got boring when you got promoted.”

Clarke smiles and leans back, resting her hands behind her head. "Promoted" still has a nice ring to it.

“So really. What’s up?”

“You have to promise you won’t make fun of me.”

“Oh, well then I’m out.”

Octavia stands, but instead of walking out she crosses to Clarke and sits atop her desk. “I’m kidding. What’s up.”

Clarke grabs a book from the nearby window seal and drops it onto the desk with a thud.

“I can’t shake it.”

“Can’t shake what? This book? Looks boring as–oh.” She nods, catching sight of the author’s name. “You mean the crush? Damn, that’s…damn.”

“Don’t.”

“No, I mean it’s fine. I wasn’t. It’s just that that’s a lot. And, well, you know.”

“What do I do?”

“There’s only one thing to do.”

“If you say talk to her, one more time I’ll fucking lose my shit.”

“Okay, one, that’s not very professor like of you. Two, of COURSE I’m going to say talk to her, Clarke. Jesus! You’re a grown ass woman. Grow a pair of ovaries and go fucking do something about it. My god. You used to be smooth, Griffin.”

  
//

  
Smooth is certainly not what she feels as she walks up to Lexa’s office on the other side of campus, damp and cold from the drizzle, and flustered beyond words.

She paces, actually paces, in front of Lexa’s office, muttering to herself like a crazy person.  
It has to be at least a solid two minutes before she’s worked herself up enough to go in calmly and ask Lexa if she’d like to grab coffee.

Her hand is almost on the door handle when someone turns the corner and walks up next to her.  
Clearly a student, Clarke excuses herself and steps back to make room for her. The girl steps up to the doorway, hesitates, pushes up her bra, fixes her hair and applies a coat of lip gloss all in a matter of seconds. She has the audacity to send Clarke a wink over her shoulder before pushing through the door.

Bewildered and angry by the display, Clarke strains to at least catch a glimpse of Lexa so as not to make this a complete waste of her time, but all she gets is the brief sound of Lexa’s raspy voice greeting the student before the door swings close. Clarke feels the rage like no other. Rage and panic and frustration and nerves and even a little bit of sadness. She paces and paces, and goes to leave more than once before she forces herself back, desperately curious to see what happens with the student with beautiful hair and smart eyes, so put together just like Lexa.

The more she thinks on it the more despondent she grows, her anger quickly slipping into sadness because of course, how could someone like Lexa, polished and brilliant, someone who wears perfectly coordinated sweater-blazer outfits and has authored at least five books if not more, be into someone like her? She looks down at her ripped jeans and paint covered hands.

“Clarke?”

She freezes mid pace when she hears her name in that sweet voice, and looks up to find Lexa staring at her inquisitively. Maybe even a little concernedly.

“Oh, Lexa. Hey. Um…hi.”

“Hello, Clarke.” Lexa gives her one of her smiles. “How are you?”

“Oh I’m good. I’m good. And you?”

“I’m well, thank you.”

“Oh good. Good, good...”

“Is there something I can help you with?”

Oh god. Clarke panics, wide eyed and dry mouthed as she thinks frantically for an excuse. “I’m starting a project!” She blurts out before she can stop herself.

Lexa nods, calm as ever. “That’s great.” Another smile. “What about?”

“Politics.”

Politics? She knows nothing about politics other than that she’s a flaming liberal and doesn’t really like the president. She hates politics.

“Oh?”

“Um. Mhm. Yeah.”

They stand there quiet and awkward, but it’s the most time she’s ever spent with Lexa, so she can’t quite bring herself to care.

“Did you have a question? Or something I might help you with?”

Right. The excuse. She racks her brain and tries desperately to think back to her high school civics class.

“You ever read The Tipping Point?”

Lexa smiles. “Malcolm Gladwell. Yes. Good read.”

Phew, okay. She’s got at least that going for her.

“Yeah. So I was just thinking of the broken glass hypothesis. The one he talks about? You’re familiar?”

“James Wilson and George Kelling’s 1982 theory, yes. It’s an evocative suggestion.”

Already Clarke is extremely enamored with how sure and competent Lexa speaks about her field, as if she knows everything– not out of cockiness, just sheer brilliance.

Not to mention it’s the most words they’d ever exchanged, and Clarke is decidedly overwhelmed.

She nods at Lexa’s response and swallows in a desperate attempt to coat her dry mouth. “I wanted to test the theory with art.” She pauses. “I, um, I teach Fine Arts here, in case you didn’t know,” she mumbles.

Lexa chuckles and that does it. It drives her completely undone. “I know you do. I’m quite fond of your work. I saw your gallery opening downtown last month after one of my students mentioned they were taking an elective with you and were planning to go. I’ve been a fan for longer than that, but that was the first one I’d gotten to see since you started here. Really, I think your work is so poignant and provocative. I think working with the ‘broken window’ theory in art would be really interesting. What are you thinking–”

“I’m so sorry,” Clarke suddenly interjects. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this.”

Lexa cocks her head, confused and maybe even a little hurt and that’s what drives Clarke forward. She steps, probably a little too far, into Lexa’s space and takes a deep breath before clarifying.

“What I mean to say...is that I can't lie to you. I’m not planning a project with the broken windows theory. I had to read The Tipping Point for my high school civics class and that’s the only thing I found remotely interesting at the time and is all I can remember. I’m sure it would be interesting in art.” She pauses briefly, thinking about it. “Actually I might be onto something there.”

She almost let’s herself get distracted, but Lexa still looks confused, and Clarke’s heart is still pounding way too fast.

“Shit, that’s not the point. I didn’t come here to ask for help. I came because…well because I think you’re amazing. You’re brilliant and beautiful and you say hello to me in the lounge when everyone else looks at me like I’m an out of place child just because I don’t teach math or a 'real’ subject. And frankly, I can’t stop thinking about you. I don’t understand anything in your last book but I can’t put it down because your writing is beautiful even if it is written in alien, and I could never hope to keep up with you intellectually, but I want to try anyways because you seem like a really amazing person to talk to. So I guess. I guess this is me asking you out. Maybe. Yeah, no definitely. This is me asking you out.” She exhales. “And that’s all I’ve got.”

She waits, chest heaving and cheeks flushed as Lexa stands there, clearly astonished.

“Clarke, I–”

Clarke sinks. She knows that tone and she doesn’t think she can bear to hear what she knows is coming next, so she rushes to cut her off.

“Oh god, its okay,” she sighs. “You don’t owe me anything. I just. I needed to get that off my chest. I’m sorry. I totally just dump trucked all over you without even asking if it was a good time. You probably have a student coming soon or–”

Lexa’s warm hands on her cheeks silence her before Lexa’s lips do. She barely has time to even process what’s happening before its over and Lexa is pulling away with a shy smile and bright red cheeks.

“I’ll go out with you,” she murmurs, and Clarke still can’t say anything, still completely lost in the wonderful and intoxicating sensation of Lexa’s kiss. “If you still want to, I mean.”

“Wha–uh, yeah. Yes! God, yes. Of course. Sorry, I…did that just happen?”

Lexa chuckles.

“That happened right? You just kissed me. I’m not making that up?”

Lexa smiles bashfully and God does Clarke find it stunning.

“You kissed me.”

“I did, yes. Was that okay? Did I overstep? I should have asked first, but you were just so--”

Clarke shakes her head violently, causing another small chuckle out of Lexa. “No. No, definitely didn’t overstep. In fact, um. You kinda caught me off guard– do you think we could maybe try that again? Typically I’m better than that."

Lexa full blown laughs this time and nods as she takes a step forward. She slips her hand under Clarke’s chin and Clarke has to lock her knees to keep from collapsing.

Lexa’s kiss is even better the second time. Soft, and warm and lazy like they’ve got all the time in the world.

But it doesn’t work that way. Not at five o'clock on a Tuesday, peak office hour times. A throat clearing somewhere nearby makes them both jump apart. Clarke can’t be sure who blushes harder when they turn to find one of Lexa’s students waiting for them to finish.

Clarke mumbles an apology and Lexa smiles, giving Clarke’s hand a quick and reassuring squeeze.

"Come by in a hour?”

Clarke nods immediately. “Dinner?”

“Yeah. That’d be nice.”

As she’s turning to go, something makes her look to the student and grin. “Hey. See her?” She gestures to Lexa. “I’ve got a hot date with her tonight, please don’t piss her off.”


	34. Commander Flirty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: i would do anything for married Clexa esp married Clexa in the canon world so if possible could you please write a prompt in which Lexa and Clexa are happily married and living in polls and are soft and loving and flirty with each other or DOMESTIC (like Clarke helping her put on her commander clothes etc) that would be amazing thank you!!

Mornings after with Lexa are always treasured moments. When the Commander is soft and warm and still swallowing sleep from her whispered “good morning,” Clarke feels her world come to a slow, steady stand still, as if time is freezing just for them; a special gift of peace for just a moment longer.

This morning, however, there is little time for sleepy kisses and nuzzled greetings into soft, skin still tingling from the late night’s activities. Today, the ambassadors arrive for the annual Spring Hunt that will ring in the Festival, and Lexa is out of bed before Clarke even wakes long enough to realize it’s morning.

Clarke is in and out of consciousness, refusing to acknowledge the sun’s greeting when she could have sworn that it was only minutes ago that she fell asleep to the sight of Lexa’s naked body cast in silver from the moon light. But when a warm breeze dances through the balcony and over to the bed, tickling Clarke’s face relentlessly, she can’t help but accept the harsh reality of having to wake.

She groans into awareness, huffing at her wife and swatting at her. Lexa just chuckles and continues getting dressed.

“I’m over here, niron. That’s the wind you are so insistently swatting away. Perhaps you should listen and rise before the morning is completely gone.”

Clarke only shoves her face further into the pillows and sneezes slightly when the fur on the pillow cases dance up her nose. “Alright,” she groans, “alright!” She hinges upwards in annoyance so quickly it makes her head spin for a moment until her eyes find and focus on Lexa.

“What are you smirking at?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Don’t start with me, Lexa. You kept me up all night, you don’t get to laugh at me in the morning too.”

“Who is laughing? I’m simply admiring.” Lexa walks over to the side of the bed and gives Clarke a purposeful kiss on the head.

“Admiring, my ass.”

“Well if I could see it, then yes, maybe. But alas, you have still yet to rise from the bed.”

“Did you just—“

Lexa smiles at her and hands her a glass of water before returning to the center of the room to finish dressing.

“Will you be joining us on the hunt, niron?”

As much as Clarke would like to ignore the fact that from now until sun down, she will be in constant motion preparing for week of festivities, she knows that hour has passed. Why she thought letting Lexa go again—and again and again—last night was a good idea is beyond her now, and she can feel the regret settled deep in her muscles and between her legs. Well…perhaps, not there, in particular, but definitely in her muscles and in the headache she is currently sporting.

She sighs out the last of her fatigue and swings her legs over the side of bed, but doesn’t make it any further. She musters up just enough energy to take a sip of the cool water in her wooden cup.

“Clarke?”

“Mm?”

“Will you be joining the hunt today?”

“Oh.” She yawns and stretches all of the pops out of her spine. “I wasn’t planning to. Am I expected?”

“Well,” Lexa returns to her and runs her hand through Clarke’s hair, brushing her overgrown bangs out of her face, “I suppose it’s up to you. Though, I know Agravore really enjoyed your presence last year.”

“Agravore is a disgusting old man.”

“Be that as it may.”

Clarke stands and nudges Lexa back far enough to step into a hug without being sandwiched between her wife and the bed. She rubs her hands mindlessly up Lexa’s long, straight back as she thinks.

“When will they arrive?”

“About midday.”

“I need to go see Mantle at the food stores to help coordinate transportation to the city center for the opening feast.”

“Mantle has apprentices for that.”

Clarke sinks her cheek into Lexa’s shoulder and closes her eyes, still sleepy, especially in the warmth of Lexa’s embrace. “He says they have been hard to wrangle lately.” She smiles fondly at the thought of Mantle’s ragtag team of rowdy teenagers all up in arms about what to wear and who to invite to the Festival opening. “They’re excited.”

Lexa hums. “As was a certain sky person at her first harvest festival too, if I recall correctly.”

“Yes well.”

“I can send August down to help with Mantle. No need to send you all the way out there for such a simple job.”

Quickly catching on, Clarke pulls back with a smile. “I’m getting the feeling that someone wants me to be on the hunt.” She plays with the strings on Lexa’s open tunic. “That…wouldn’t be you…now, would it?”

Lexa swats her hands away and swiftly walks away to finish dressing, this time turning to her armor. “I don’t care whether you go, particularly. I just know how much you enjoy the forest.”

“That’s true,” Clarke agrees, playing along. She picks up Lexa’s shoulder guard and brushes her wife’s hair out of the way before snapping it into place. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with…I don’t know. The Great Commander wanting to show off her hunting prowess?”

“Do you doubt my prowess?” Lexa challenges with a sharp brow.

“Oh. Never.”

“Clarke!”

The sky woman, no longer a girl—not after so long on the ground and all of its chaos—laughs and rests her hands flat on Lexa’s chest. “I never doubt your prowess, my love. You know that.”

“Good,” the Commander grumbles, “I should suspect not…” Her face lights up in a mischievous smirk and Clarke knows it’s coming before Lexa even says it. “Not after last night.”

When Clarke remains silent, Lexa bolsters from the perceived triumph. “How many times was it, again? Twice? Three times?”

“Oh my god.” Clarke rolls her eyes and rounds the bed to grab Lexa’s daggers from beneath her pillow.

“No, I seem to remember it being more.”

“If you don’t hush, I will use these on you,” Clarke says as she comes back to Lexa’s side. She slides the daggers into Lexa’s thigh holsters and secures them with particularly aggressive tugs.

“Ow.”

“You’re fine.”

“How many, Clarke?”

Clarke grabs Lexa’s tin of oily coal from beside her, opens it, dips her finger in, and then unceremoniously smudges it onto the Commander’s nose. “It was five, you impossible woman.”

Lexa beams. “Yes, that sounds right.”

“If you keep this up, I will definitely not be joining you on the hunt.”

Lexa’s smile falls immediately and she nods obediently.

“Much better. Now, hold still.”

“Clarke?”

“What.”

“Will you be removing that mark from my nose?”

The smallest of grins tugs at the corner of Clarke’s mouth. “I haven’t decided yet.”

//

“She’s showing off.” Octavia motions toward the game cart, full to the brim with boar and other triumphs.

Clarke sits atop her horse next to the warrior and sighs, shaking her head in feigned exasperation. If she were being totally honest, she’d quite been enjoying the show. “Oh, believe me. I know.”

“We do this every year. Does she really think we haven’t caught on?”

Clarke chortles. “I don’t think she really cares. Not so long as she’s proving a point.”

“And that point would be?”

Before Clarke can answer, a storm of horse hooves erupts behind her as Lexa comes cantering up and pulls to a stop. She bows her head regally in greeting, but her eyes are full of mischief and bravado. Clarke secretly loves her like this, all puffed up with pride and honor, practically gleaming in her dignity, but she’d never tell her so. At least not now.

“Clarke.”

“Heda,” Clarke greets, matching her wife’s head bow. Though she too, is full of frisky mirth and flirtatious mischief. It’s in the air and strikes everyone, even Lexa’s most stoic of hunters and warriors, who could be seen laughing and sparring amongst themselves to pass the down time.

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Oh, most definitely,” Clarke teases, “though I’m just wondering if we will have to be out here all night before we have enough for tonight’s dinner.”

“Have you…have you not seen the cart, Clarke? It is completely full,” Lexa boasts, indignant.

“I don’t know…it’s looking a little low.”

“Oh my god,” Octavia growls before digging into her horse and riding off to join a group of fellow warriors.

“What’s with her?” Lexa follows Octavia with a curious gaze as the warrior rides off, providing Clarke with the perfect opportunity to study Lexa from her favorite angle. She traces the sharp line of her jaw and the high sweep of her cheekbone, long enough for Lexa to turn to her quizzically at her non-response.

They meet each other’s gaze with matching fond smiles, unapologetic in their taking of this stolen moment to makeup for their lost time this morning.

“I have something for you. I’d like to give it to you before the dinner,” Lexa suddenly says. “Would you meet me in the Grove beforehand?”

“We’ll already be together beforehand…probably getting dressed in our room,” Clarke chuckles, though she can see instantly that Lexa grows nervous, the way she once had been when they were still healing and figuring out their way back to each other. She quiets her laughter. “But…yeah, I can meet you there, sure,” she says more seriously.

Lexa seems to lift in relief, all of her confidence and dignity draining back into her to restore her to her former stature. “Good. I shall see you then.”

“Not before?”

Reading Clarke’s pout, Lexa smiles and places her hand over Clarke’s, both their hands now resting on Clarke’s horse reigns. “I’ll be around. But I have to meet with the ambassadors individually aside from the Coalition meeting, as you know. And since you are no longer Skaikru’s ambassador…” she jabs, taking every opportunity to let her wife know that it is a bother to have to deal with anyone other than her after she’d gotten so used to speaking to Clarke directly.

“I can’t be their ambassador when I am more your people than I am theirs now.”

“They are my people too, therefore you belong no more closely to one than the other.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “I’m your wife, and Regent of the Coalition. I believe that makes me decidedly more your people than any of theirs.”

“It makes you decidedly more _mine_ ,” Lexa puffs, looping her arms possessively around Clarke’s hips.

Clarke laughs and shakes her head, pushing her away but not trying hard at all. “You know what I mean.”

Lexa smiles. “Yes.”

“But I’ll see you before tonight?”

“At the meeting and then in the Grove, yes.”

“No, I mean before that?”

“Why? Will you miss me?”

Clarke huffs and looks around as if someone might be watching, ready to laugh at her for her softness. “I might, yeah. You’ve been gone a lot lately.”

“Last night you had me all to yourself,” Lexa glints. “Besides. I’ve been gone because I have been helping prepare for the festival…your favorite time of year, is it not? I would think you would be happy.”

“Yeah, well I’m happiest when you’re home before dark and in bed with me every night. The festival is just a bonus.”

“And last night?”

Clarke rolls her eyes yet again. “An extra bonus.”

Lexa hums and nods, not without giving Clarke a smirk, though. “I’ll be around,” she repeats. “I should rejoin the hunt.”

She starts to shift her horse onward, but Clarke grabs her coat sleeve. “Hey.”

Lexa pulls up and Clarke latches onto the front of her coat, tugging the Commander in for a kiss. Lexa only seems mildly surprised before she leans into it, familiar and very good at it by now.

“Okay,” Clarke sighs, pulling back, “now you can go.”

//

The air in Polis is vivid and alive by the time the hunting party returns with a cart so full and heavy, the horses can barely pull it. Which is for the best as the streets are filled and bustling with people of all ages preparing and making general merriment before the start of the night.

It’s like a maze trying to guide Clarke’s horse through all of the people as she pulls away from the hunting party and towards the stalls. Several times, she has to quickly pull up to keep from colliding with throngs of running and giggling children.

A small straggler, too busy watching the hunting party make its way though the city center, makes contact with Clarke’s horse, and all she can do is chuckle once the initial shock has passed. The little boy lifts his skull mask and stares at her, wide eyed and enamored by the legendary Wanheda, Houmon kom Heda, Regent of the Coalition. His eyes are bright green and it makes her long for someone she’d only just left.

“Well, hello there,” she greets as she hops down from her horse.

“Wanheda,” he nods gracefully, wise beyond his years, and Clarke can’t help but wonder if he is perhaps one of Lexa’s students.

After thanking the stable hand for taking her horse, she crouches down to one knee and smiles at the boy still staring at her with awe. She gets these kind of glances often, but they always seem too big and too reverent, no matter how often or how large or small the body they’re coming from.

“Are you excited for the Festival?” She straightens his shirt for him and tussles his dirty blonde hair, not at all oblivious to the deep tug it draws in her chest.

The boy scrunches in confusion. “Ex-cited?”

“Hap op,” Clarke clarifies with gentle patience and a soft smile.

“Oh!” The child squeaks and begins bouncing. “Sha! Yes!”

“Good,” Clarke chuckles.

“Will you be there, Wanheda?”

Before Clarke can answer, the boy’s eyes go impossibly wide and he takes a step back out of the shadow suddenly cast over them. Clarke turns to find Lexa’s standing over them, a stern look on her face, but a smile twinkling in her eyes.

“Hei, strikgona,” she greets the little warrior seriously. “Hard at work preparing for the Festival?”

The little boy’s eyes flit up towards Clarke for assurance to which Clarke smiles and nods encouragingly.

“Sha, Heda,” he whispers.

“Hm?”

The boy clears his throat and stands up a little straighter. “Sha, Heda.”

“Very well.” Lexa’s nods firmly in acceptance, though Clarke can tell by the hold of her shoulders that she nods in total pride. The Commander kneels and grasps his tiny arm in the traditional handshake, and Clarke can’t help but melt at how seriously the little one takes it, his back rigid straight and chin poised to the sky.

“Gyon au, nou. Help your parents prepare,” Lexa tells him as she wipes at some dirt on his forehead. “Go on.”

The little boy holds his seriousness for as long as he can before he nods and scampers away, nearly squeaking in delight.

“I’m not sure whether you scared him or made his day,” Clarke chuckles as she helps her wife off the ground.

“I suppose perhaps both.”

“They adore you.” Clarke tucks into the Commander’s side and rests her head in the cradle between Lexa’s shoulder and neck.

“They respect me. You, they adore.”

“Jealous?” Clarke pokes her in the side.

Lexa smiles and shakes her head, peeling herself away from Clarke just far enough to grasp her hands and face her. “I am happy they have nothing to fear from you.”

Clarke can see a wistfulness to Lexa’s eyes as she speaks about it, as if Lexa sometimes wishes she were not the all-powerful, sometimes terrifying, leader of the Coalition. Clarke knows in the way that she plays and teaches with the little ones that her natural instinct is to be soft and loving with them. As Lexa is with her. She squeezes her hands and presses a kiss to her locked jaw.

“They don’t fear you, Lexa. They just want to make you proud. And sometimes that’s a daunting feat.” Clarke bops her on the nose. “I should know.”

“I daunt you, Clarke?”

Clarke runs her fingers along Lexa’s armor, aimlessly adjusting straps and fiddling with clasps out of habit and a desire to touch. “Sometimes,” she shrugs. “You’re very special, Commander.”

Lexa catches one of Clarke’s wandering hands and brings it up to her lips. “You’re the special one, Clarke.” She kisses her knuckles and Clarke burns in embarrassment, even after so long together.

“Seriously?” Octavia approaches with a grimace on her face and her hand rested lazily on her sword like a true Trikru warrior. “You’ve been apart, literally maybe five minutes.”

“Oh, float off, O,” Clarke huffs, an embarrassed smile still flirting on her features. “She was gone for two weeks and only just got back last night. Let me have this.”

“Yeah and I’m sure you more than made up for lost time.”

The Commander doesn’t quite blush, but she shifts uncomfortably and clears her throat loudly as her hand falls to her own sword hilt; a subtle warning. “What can we help you with, Octavia?” She says coolly, slipping back into Commander mode effortlessly.

“Heda,” Octavia nods, both in apology and greeting. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Marina was hoping to have her individual meeting with you now to speak about Floukru’s lake draught. She’s on her way to the throne room.”

“She cannot wait until after, like the others?”

“She says she would like to send word home to her council on your ruling before the start of the Festival.”

Lexa sighs and rubs the back of her neck, silently running through her endless list of things she has to do. “I still need to speak with Indra about the wall’s heavier security tonight. Oh, and I told Abby I would check in with her at the Sick House before the meeting with the Kongeda.”

Clarke can see her wrestling with all of her duties in that overworked mind of hers, and frowns, not liking to see her so run down. On the other hand, it does all kinds of fluttery things to her insides to hear that Lexa had promised her mother a personal visit.

“I’m not sure I can meet with Marina beforehand,” Lexa concludes with a weary exhale.

Clarke places a soft hand to the curve of the Commander’s back. “I can meet with Marina. Or with my mother, which ever would be more helpful.”

Lexa turns to her, gratefulness and unbridled adoration playing in her eyes. “Would you mind?”

“Not at all. I was just going to check in with people to see if they needed anything for tonight anyways before the meeting. Who would you like me to see in your stead?”

“Go to Marina. I feel she has always enjoyed your company over mine anyways,” Lexa teases. “I’d still like to see to your mother, personally. I believe she has some important updates on the illness spreading through the West, but if I need you to go, I’ll find you?”

Clarke smiles at her. “I’ll be around,” she says, echoing Lexa’s earlier sentiment. She turns to Octavia who doesn’t even try to hid her annoyance at the overt display of affection. One would think she’d be used to it by now. Clarke can only roll her eyes and chuckle to herself. “You said she’s in the throne room?”

“On her way there.”

“Come on, then.”

“Oh, so you’re done flirting?” Octavia asks, once Lexa has walked far enough away to be out of earshot. “Ready to do your job, now?”

“If you’re not careful with your tongue, I’ll have the Commander close up the old, abandoned food stores house you and Lincoln like so much,” Clarke says flatly without looking at her friend. Though she doesn’t need to be looking at her to hear her swallow hard. “Oh, you thought I didn’t know you two sneaked off there during your rounds?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mm.”

“I don’t.”

“Well Either way. It’d be a shame to see it demolished. Lexa has been wanting to use that space for a new harvest field, you know.”

“We have plenty of fields as it is,” Octavia snaps, giving herself away. She blushes as Clarke chuckles and bumps into her playfully as she drags her along up towards the tower.

//

As it turns out, Lexa isn’t around as she’d said she would be. Clarke catches a spare second with her in the throne room before the ambassadors file in, but it’s not nearly enough—not when her body still hums from their night before, and her heart beats in excited, unsettled rhythms every time she catches sight of her in their home after the Commander had been gone so long visiting the clans.

And the meeting drags on, everyone bringing elaborate ideas and proposals to the table for the new year. The couple works well together, Clarke being the voice of compassion when Lexa strays to far into the realm of severity, and Lexa being the voice of calm, reason when Clarke finds herself stumbling into her natural, passionate impulsion.

Though not even they are quite able to quell the enthusiasm and excitement spilling forth from the ambassadors at the prospect of this year’s particularly good harvest and what the means for the Kongeda’s prosperity and inter-clan trading. It makes Clarke happy to see their people so harmonious and enthralled with life, but a part of her—a large part of her—had hoped for a quick meeting and some stolen moments alone with the Commander afterwards.

They barely speak a word to each other for the whole of the two hours in the throne room, and afterwards, Lexa is whisked away to meet with the ambassadors individually while Clarke is gone just as quickly to oversee the final preparations for the Feast.

It’s why Clarke supposes she finds herself so nervous as she makes the relatively long trek from the tower to the Grove. All of that pent up anticipation throughout the day with no outlet leaves her feeling giddy and nervous. They’d been together for a while now, probably close to four full harvests including this one, but she still wasn’t used to it sometimes. Not after all they’d been through. Not after she’d watched Lexa die. Not after she’d gotten her one more time only to lose her again in the City of Light. Not after Lexa had found her months later, lost and terrified after being separated from her people as they trekked across the territories trying to save the world yet again. Not after Lexa had explained Titus’ elaborate plan to dethrone her for her own protection, hiding her less than dead body away in a bunker deep in the forest until the Ica Nation had been defeated. That part still keeps Clarke awake at night—the thought of a mortally injured Lexa waiting for Titus to return to her to tell her Nia and Ontari had been defeated, only to be left for dead in that bunker after Titus had taken his own life. No, sometimes she couldn’t believe they were really here, together, not after all of the odds.

“Niron.”

Clarke startles out of her thoughts as Lexa’s voice reaches her and her feet meet the spongey moss of the beautiful field of flowers Lexa had proposed to her in.

“Lex.”

“Where was your mind, my love?” Lexa meets her wife halfway and joins their hands, a small and concerned smile gracing her angular face, accentuated by the setting sun.

“I was just thinking about us.”

“Us?”

“Mhm. Everything we’ve been through. How sometimes it’s hard to believe that you’re really real. This is real.”

Lexa slides her hand around the back of Clarke’s neck and pulls her in for a kiss that is loving and soothing and protective. “Does that feel real to you, Hodnes?”

Clarke swallows back her emotions and nods against Lexa’s forehead, her hands roaming the Commander’s long sides looking for purchase.

“You seem restless.”

“Just nervous.”

“Why are you nervous?”

Clarke laughs at herself quietly and shrugs. “I don’t even know.”

“The start of the new year always makes you antsy. Like a little fawn,” Lexa chuckles.

Clarke nudges the Commander’s head aside and burrows in for a proper hug, not wanting to think about anything other than the feeling of Lexa’s arms around her.

“We’re okay, Clarke,” Lexa soothes, running her hands along Clarke’s back.

“I know.”

“You love the Festival.”

“I know.”

“You don’t like the memorial service. Is that it?”

Clarke thinks to the large granite sculpture every Festival opening pays tribute to, honoring the dead of the Skaikru-Kongeda War, and feels her eyes finally grow wet. “There’s so much pain in our past,” she whispers against Lexa’s chest. “So much…I did so much—”

Lexa shushes her gently and brings a steady hand to the back of her head, scratching and soothing. “It was war, Clarke. We all did things we would rather not think on. But look what it brought us.”

Clarke nods, her grip tightening around Lexa’s waist.

“I think it’s important to honor the past when we bring in the new. But if it is too upsetting for you, I’ll have the tradition removed. Just say the word.”

Clarke doesn’t exactly know what she wants, but she knows it isn’t that. It’s like a knife to the heart every time, opening the Festival with painful memories and ghosts before any merriment can follow, but it’s necessary. It feels necessary. Some of her dearest friends are honored on that sculpture—Wells, Finn, Anya.

“It’s important,” she murmurs, pulling back and letting Lexa wipe away her tears. “It’s just hard.”

“I know, Love.”

“I missed you.”

“I’m here now.”

Clarke smiles and nods, running her hands along Lexa’s armor and up to her jaw. “You’re beautiful.”

Lexa blushes. “Compared to you, I am as awful as Titus’ bald head.”

Clarke both laughs and grimaces, hating to recall a man she’d so long blamed for her most painful of sorrows, but not totally amiss to the humor of Lexa’s insult. She clucks her tongue and tucks a stray, chestnut braid back into place. “You’re perfect.”

“As are you.”

“So what did you bring me all the way out here for?”

Lexa smiles and pulls a little book out of her coat. Its leather cover is thick and crudely bound, but it has their symbol on the front of it, so Clarke knows it’s special. Lexa hands it to her nervously with no introduction and casts her eyes away as Clarke starts to flip through it.

Clarke recognizes Lexa’s small, precise handwriting in a second, the way it curves and flows around the letters of Trigedaslang so effortlessly. She recognizes their history in the words, some angry, some surprised and intrigued, some slowly starting to take the shape of love and reference. “Your journal,” she realizes in an awe-filled whisper.

“This is yours,” Lexa says, her voice sort of thin and vulnerable. “About you, I mean. I kept two. When you fell from the sky and Anya told me you’d managed to burn 300 of my warriors, I thought I would need a separate book, all for you. I thought I would need a record of this fearless, head strong, insufferable Skaikru leader, to keep track of her moves and her strategies, should I ever need to turn to it in the future.”

Clarke’s not sure whether to chuckle or cry, so she does both, her fingers still adoringly brushing across the pages.

“I admit some of the first pages are not how I would wish you to believe I think of you.”

Clarke laughs wetly and shakes her head. “That’s okay. This is pretty mild compared to some of the things I thought about you when we first met.”

Lexa smirks, intrigued, but Clarke just continues flipping through the pages.

"Why now?" 

"Hm?" 

"Why are you giving this to me now?" 

"Well," Lexa says, thinking, "I feels like this book is our beginning...and middle, even some of our ends. Sort of our journey. And every Harvest Festival I feel I've reached another part of our journey together. So, I thought today would be appropriate. And as for why  _this_ Harvest Festival...well I've only just finished filling it up." 

Clarke looks up from the book with wide, shiny eyes. "You've still been writing in it?" 

Lexa nods. "The marker there is where our past ends. Or what I think of our past. Everything after that is our days spent after we established peace between Skaikru and the Kongeda."

As the Clarke gets to one of the last pages of the first section, she stalls on a long, unfamiliar word. “What does this mean? I believe she is…?”

Lexa takes a step into her side and peers over her shoulder. She smiles. “I wrote this in the bunker, when I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again or if my blockade had already ended your life.” Lexa clears her throat, raw and wet, and presses a kiss to Clarke’s shoulder blade. “But then I started promising myself I would see you again. Because I believed you were my,” she points to the word, “soulmate.”

Clarke doesn’t say anything, just wipes away a tear that had fallen to the page, closes the book and turns to face her wife. She opens her mouth and shrugs, not sure what to say, but Lexa reads it all in her face and brings their noses together, bumping playfully and lovingly before dipping in for a kiss.

Clarke shutters a breath out of her nose as she turns her head to delve in deeper, needing to feel closer, as close as possible. A small moan escapes her when Lexa tucks her fingers underneath her shirt and grips onto the bare skin of her hips. “Ai keryonteina,” Lexa whispers against her.

Clarke nods. “My soulmate.”

The Commander’s fingers stray to the band of Clarke’s jeans, and her wife’s body immediately responds, hips swaying forward in search of more contact.

“We’re outside,” Clarke pants.

“We’re alone, and it’s dark,” Lexa reasons, unbuttoning Clarke’s pants and drawing the zipper down. She is not hesitant nor slow when she slips her palm into Clarke’s underwear and cups her.

 

“There you are, I—oh shit.”

Clarke jumps away from Lexa with an embarrassed gasp at the sound of Octavia’s voice and her horse’s footsteps approaching the arbored entrance to the Grove. Lexa’s head just falls to Clarke’s shoulder with an exasperated growl as she quickly and discreetly rebuttons and zips her wife’s pants.

“Sorry I—the Feast is ready to being. They told me to come find you.”

With a flick of her hand, Lexa silences the warrior and plants an annoyed kiss to Clarke’s head. “I’ll see you up there,” she huffs.

“Yeah.” Clarke kisses her on the cheek and let’s her walk away before turning to Octavia. All she can do is chuckle and grin sheepishly up at her friend.

“You guys are so gross.”

Clarke rubs her face in her hands and laughs, unbridled and suddenly unashamed. “I’m happy,” she sighs. “I’m actually happy.”

When she peers back up at Octavia, her friend is smiling at her, though not without rolling her eyes. “C’mon, princess. Your people are waiting for you.”


	35. Ice, Ice, Baby.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt : Lexa and Clarke on their nth date. Lexa promised Clarke to pick Clarke up at the hospital, but she was late, so she rushed, slipped and fell (back of her head first) on her way to Clarke's room. Didnt really notice anything wrong till they somehow make out before they go out. There was a big bump and some bloods there. Clarke was freaking out but it was funny in a way, and Lexa honestly didn't really feel the pain until Clarke tend her wound lol. "Thick head" lol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I made them married because I'm a little obsessed with married clexa right now.

The pain in Lexa’s head is not nearly as annoying as the time that is quickly slipping away from her as she tries desperately to blink herself back into focus. There are two pairs of destroyed flowers and two pairs of flattened chocolate boxes around her, and Lexa is just barely aware enough to know she’s seeing double. It should probably be a warning, but when the four hands on her watch show her that she’s now even later getting to the hospital than she was before, nothing else matters.

 

She shirks off the concerned hands trying to help her up and yanks the flowers and chocolate up, regardless of their destroyed state, because they’re Clarke’s favorite and she’s determined, dammit. She squeezes her eyes shut tight, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in the back of her head and the chill of wet snow pressed into her coat.

 

“I’m fine. I’m fine, thank you,” she says to the people trying to get her attention, but she’ll deal with herself later. For now, all she can focus on is remembering how to run and how the hell to get to the hospital. She squints up at the streets signs and tries to think, but all that does is make her dizzy and nauseous, so she just lets herself stumble off in the direction that feels right.

 

By some miracle, she ends up on a street she recognizes about a block away from the hospital and slows to a walk which proves to be a mistake.  Without the burn in her lungs to distract her from the dizziness, her next steps are slow and difficult. Though, at least the pain seems to have gone. She attributes it to the frigid cold and its numbing properties, given the fact she can’t feel her fingers, toes, or anything else for that matter.

 

She looks to her flowers and groans internally, wondering if Clarke will forgive her for not having flowers for their anniversary for the first time in four years. Even the cutest traditions could use a little shaking up, right? She gives the sad flowers one last glance before pushing herself onward towards the wall of light flooding out of the hospital ER sliding door.

 

//

 

“Hey, there’s your girl.”

 

Clarke whirls around from the front desk where she’d been chatting with the nurse and rushes towards Lexa, drawing her immediately into a hug.

 

“Thank god,” she breathes, pressing her cheek to Lexa’s cold chest. “I was so worried.” She pulls back with her hands on Lexa’s arms and peers up at her glassy eyes and pink cheeks. “What happened?”

 

“I uh,” Lexa waves her off and rubs at her forehead before wordlessly handing Clarke the destroyed flowers and smooshed chocolate box. “Work. Work was a bitch. I’m so sorry I’m late. I moved the reservation back, so we’re still okay with the restaurant.”

 

“You’re being weird,” Clarke says, peering at her closely. “Why are you squinting?”

 

“It’s bright in here.”

 

“It’s…not. But okay.”

 

“Can we go? I want to take my hot wife out for our anniversary. Is that okay with you?”

 

Clarke feigns a gasp. “Who’s this hot wife? Are you cheating on me?”

 

“You heard nothing,” Lexa winks. “Come on, I’ve called a car.”

 

“Oh, so fancy.”

 

“Only the best for my hot wife.”

 

Clarke snorts and shakes her head, grabbing for Lexa as she turns to walk away. “Wait, can I have a kiss first?”

  
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. Comere.”

 

Clarke raises up as Lexa bends to meet her, and maybe its their anniversary, or maybe it was the worry over Lexa’s tardiness that does it, but Clarke can’t make herself care that she’s in public when she takes Lexa’s lower lip into her mouth and sucks. When Lexa moans, a tiny, muffled little sound, Clarke can’t help but run her hands up Lexa’s neck and into her hair, pulling her close.

 

Lexa hisses and pulls back sharply, face screwed up in pain. Clarke is nothing less than alarmed when she pulls her hand away and finds it wet and red. “Lex, what?” Jumping into doctor mode, Clarke spins Lexa’s around and parts her hair, gasping when she finds the large gash in the center of Lexa’s scull. “What the hell happened, sweetheart?”

 

Lexa shrugs and rubs at her forehead again. “I fell.”

 

“You fell?”

 

“I was running here and slipped on some ice.”

 

“You were _running_?! Lexa, there’s ice all over the place!”

 

Lexa rolls her eyes, then thanks god that Clarke can’t actually see her face, and shrugs again. “Yeah. Clearly.”

 

“Babe. Why didn’t you tell me?” Clarke comes back around to face Lexa and grabs her cheeks, moving her head from side to side as she peers into her eyes.

 

“It’s not a big deal.”

 

“Not a big deal? Lexa, you’re showing signs of a mild concussion. And that laceration needs stitches.”

 

“Stitches?”

 

“Yeah, babe, it’s like four inches long.”

 

“But dinner,” Lexa pouts.

 

“Dinner’s gonna have to wait.”

 

“But my hot wife—“

 

“I’m sure your hot wife will understand,” Clarke chuckles, “at least _I_ would, but she’s probably not as great as I am, so. Come on.”

 

Lexa lets herself be pulled by the hand through the double doors of the ER, casting a pitiful look to the check-in nurse who smiles at her sympathetically in return, and into a room. Clarke sits her down on a bed and runs through several concussions tests, and it’s like pulling teeth. Lexa’s sad pout is the only thing that keeps Clarke from snapping at her to stop being so difficult.

 

When she’s finished with everything—the tests, the stitches, the clean-up—Clarke runs her hand gently across Lexa’s cheek and smiles at her, though its tinged with a sad frown. “My poor baby,” she sighs.

 

Lexa eats it up, nodding and letting her forehead fall to Clarke’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I ruined our anniversary.”

 

“That’s okay,” Clarke chuckles, running her hands up her back, “I’m sure your hot wife will understand.”

 

Lexa pulls out of the hug and latches onto Clarke’s cheeks, pulling her in for a kiss. “ _You’re_ my hot wife,” she murmurs against said wife’s lips.

 

“Good thing,” Clarke laughs. She kisses her again, then bops her on the nose. “And it’s a good thing you have thick head.”

 

“Hey.”

 

“I’m just saying. Could’ve been much worse.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Lexa grumbles, “I was trying to impress my hot wife.”

 

Clarke smiles and joins her wife on the table, lacing their fingers together after pulling the box of smooshed chocolates into her lap to sort through. “Well, color me impressed. Now,” she hums, peering through the crushed chocolates, “let’s see what we got in here.”


	36. New Year's Tease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Smut- Clexa New Year's Eve.

* * *

Maybe it was the booze, maybe it was the music and the party and the fireworks. Maybe it was the hope and excitement for the new year just hours away. Whatever it was, it has Clarke feeling wildly enthralled with the girl across the room. The girl who, not so subtly, had been staring at her for the better half of the night with an amazing face and body to match. 

She smiles at her more than once, but every time she does this enrapturing girl in her leather jacket and casual stature resting against the wall just grins with her eyes and looks away, giving her nothing. Absolutely nothing to work with except the mysteriousness that keeps drawing her attention back to that dark corner set away from the rest of the rowdy crowd. 

Sick of waiting, she downs the rest of what’s left in her cup and tosses her cup onto the nearby coffee table. Actively ignoring the objections from the rational and still slightly sober part of her brain, she marches over to the girl and stops when she’s inches away. 

Casually, almost lazily, the girl turns to look at her, that stupid grin still sparkling in her eyes, and lifts an eyebrow in silent greeting. Or maybe it’s not a greeting at all, but it doesn’t matter because at least it’s acknowledgement, and that’s all Clarke needs. 

“I’m Clarke.” 

The girls stands up from the wall, bringing her foot down from where it’d been resting casually against it, and steps into Clarke space with the definition of smolder accompanying her. “Lexa.” 

Clarke nods, licking her lips in deliberation before she takes a hesitant step closer. “I’m going to kiss you unless you tell me not to.” She’d be slightly startled by her brazenness if she were’t so excited and long past intrigued. 

“You won’t here an objection from me,” Lexa murmurs, stepping forward with her eyes glued to Clarke’s lips. 

//

Kissing leads to stumbling which somehow, marvelously leads to a dark hallway and abandoned room that Clarke vaguely recognizes as her own when Lexa pulls back for a split second to shut the door. 

And then Lexa’s back at her, on her, kissing her and tugging at her clothes until she’s down to her simple, black lingerie set that she silently thanks herself for having the forethought to put on that day. 

“Fuck,” Lexa exhales, stalling for a second to get a good look at her. “I knew you were hot, but this is just showing off.” 

Clarke laughs and pulls Lexa back towards her, their teeth colliding at first because Clarke is still laughing and Lexa is smiling, and both of them are a little less than sober and a little more than eager. 

“This needs to go,” Clarke says against Lexa’s lips as she tugs at the jacket, even though it pains her slightly to say it. It truly is a nice jacket. 

Without detaching, Lexa slips out of it, then unbuttons her pants, anticipating Clarke’s next request which makes Clarke smile before she tugs Lexa’s lower lips between her teeth. 

She’s _not_ expecting the quiet growl that it elicits, but what a wonderful side-effect. Clarke nearly chokes on her own gulp at the sound of it, and suddenly her hands are shaking when she goes to help Lexa out of her shirt. 

Lexa catches her wrists and gives her a gentle, knowing smile that should seem out of place given the intensity of their path up to this point, but somehow it’s wonderful and perfect all the same. “Go lay down,” Lexa whispers, “and close your eyes.” 

Clarke opens her mouth to complain, wanting more than anything to watch Lexa strip the rest of the way out of her clothes, but Lexa kisses her into silence and points to the bed with an unusually commanding authority that makes Clarke flush. 

On her back, she turns her head and watches Lexa for a second longer than she’s supposed to, but eventually she does close her eyes and waits an agonizingly long several seconds. She thinks more than once that she can sense Lexa’s presence near her, but every time she peeks, Lexa is still peeling out of one layer of clothing or another. Clarke knows she’s taking her sweet ass time on purpose, dragging the elastic of her boyshorts down her impossibly long legs, one centimeter at a time, which means she knows that Clarke is peeking. It drives her nuts, and when Lexa finally, _finally_ makes the bed dip, Clarke is sticky and throbbing.

“You play that game with everyone?” She whispers through slightly labored breathing as Lexa hovers over her, naked and flushed. 

“To be totally honest, I haven’t been with anyone in a while,” Lexa murmurs and it’s clear that it’s not meant to be a particularly heavy confession because she’s too busy staring at Clarke’s lips with glazed eyes to really care about what she’s just said.

Clarke, on the other hand, feels suddenly small and vulnerable when she whispers, “Me either,” back to her. Thankfully, Lexa doesn’t seem to notice, or if she does, she doesn’t make a big deal over it. But if she weren’t totally mistaken, she’d say that Lexa’s kisses get a little softer, a little deeper and a little more tender after that. 

//

Lexa is _good._ Like, heart stopping, hyperventilating, over-heating, _good._ And while in any other situation all of those things would be immensely uncomfortable, here in her bed, with Lexa’s hand between her legs and her lips pressed to hers, those sensations are exactly why she’d later describe this as the best sex she’s ever had. 

That, and well, Lexa is _sweet._ Like, “you’re so beautiful,” and “I love the way you feel,” and “I’ve got you,” _sweet._ She’s confident and skillful and even a little cocky, but she’s also attentive and patient and dedicated, asking questions when she’s unsure and going slow when Clarke is.

“Hey.” 

Clarke opens her eyes to Lexa’s face close to hers, flushed and sweaty and exquisite. 

“Doin okay?” 

She nods and adjusts her hips slightly, pressing them up into Lexa hand, moaning softly when it pushes her fingers deeper inside her. 

“Is this still good?” Lexa asks, those fingers pushing deep, her thumb circling heavy, wet and slow. 

Clarke nods and takes Lexa’s lips back, pushing past her teeth and playing their tongues together, searching for that spark that travels down her lower stomach when they tangle in the right way. 

Lexa finds it first. She always finds it first, dragging the tip of her tongue down the length of Clarke’s until Clarke inhales sharply and pulses against her thumb. To this, Lexa always smiles and Clarke always blushes. 

“You’re good at this.” 

Lexa nudges her head to the side and kisses up the sharp line of Clarke’s straining jaw. “You’re body is pretty transparent.” 

“What do you mean?” She gasps when Lexa drags her fingers upwards along Clarke’s warm, spongey roof on the way out, and practically gurgles, when she bears down on the way in. 

“That’s what I mean,” Lexa says bringing her lips back to Clarke’s. “Pretty telegraphic.” 

Clarke blushes and buries her face into Lexa’s check, trying to hide her blush and the way that the information makes her smile for whatever odd reason she doesn’t care to parse through at the moment. 

“Hey,” Lexa whispers, drawing her attention back. “Think you can come again?” 

Clarke sends her focus south to the feeling of Lexa’s thumb against her, her three fingers deliciously deep and wide inside of her. She’s sensitive still from where Lexa’s head had been there just a little while earlier, but there’s something there. She can feel it brewing just below the surface with every circumference completed, and every slow, diligent push. 

She nods and hooks a hand behind Lexa’s neck, pulling her face closer. “Just keep kissing me. I like that.”

//

She trembles as she swings a thigh carefully over Lexa’s face, her cheeks burning madly as she meets Lexa’s excited gaze before closing her eyes. She doesn’t lower herself right away, just grips onto the bars of the head board and buries her face into her own shoulder as Lexa’s whispers assurances at her and kisses along her inner thighs.

She’s never been more turned on in her life, she can feel that in the way she drips down her own leg, thighs shaking almost violently as Lexa’s warm breath gets closer and closer. 

“Sit down, sweet girl,” Lexa murmurs, strong hands on her hips, coaxing her lower. 

Clarke lets out a shaky breath as she gives in, letting Lexa pull her down until her thighs are hugging her ears and Lexa’s nose is nuzzling the top of her pubic bone. 

She worries about being too heavy, her entire weight concentrated on Lexa’s vital regions, her chest, her neck, her face. But then Lexa’s tongue separates her, tastes her for the second time that night, and the ungodly sound that escapes her instantly distracts her from her concerns. 

From there, Lexa goes from _good_ to _otherworldly,_ and though she can hear them, though she is conscious of them, embarrassed by them even, she cannot seem to make the noises spilling out of her cease. They tumble out of her rhythmically, in time with every swipe of Lexa’s tongue, or chin, or thumb, or whatever it is in that moment that Lexa has decided to use to send stars into Clarke’s vision and stutters into her chest. 

When Lexa stops, Clarke opens her eyes and peers down at her, instantly greeted by a look of awe and then a large smile. 

“What?” She asks, her voice thick and raspy. 

“You’re just so stunning,” Lexa says, then kisses her. And of course, the involuntary noise comes back. Lexa gives her a slow, meaningful lick. Clarke’s hand, which had come down to rest on her thigh for the moment of down time, shoots back to the head board as she jerks and moans into it, her mind vaguely registering the voices in the living room growing louder. 

“I want you to ride me,” Lexa whispers, her eyes wide with what Clarke can only deem as reverent. It makes her heart skip. 

“I thought…I thought that’s what I was doing,” she replies, shyly, still not quite used to the unabashed way Lexa made her requests. 

“No. I was servicing you. And now I want you to service yourself.” 

Confused, but thrilled and continuously turned-on, Clarke tilts her head and pulls her lip between her teeth in a subconscious, habitual show of thought. Helping her out, Lexa sticks out her tongue and flattens it against her, then uses her hands on her hips to roll Clarke against her. 

Clarke shutters from the sensation, both relieved and suddenly wound up tight by the new clarity of the request. With her lip still bit, she tightens her grip on the head board and gives her hips a slow, experimental roll. She watches Lexa closely for assurance, and when Lexa’s eye twinkle and a hum vibrates through her, Clarke breathes deep and does it again. 

//

She feels dirty in the sexiest of ways, so open and exposed, riding Lexa’s face with her head tossed back and her moans shooting straight up to the ceiling as each amazing, wonderful spark of arousal crashes through her. 

She’d since stopped nervously checking in with Lexa, peering down at her through her arms to make sure she was still okay, still breathing, still into it. After meeting Lexa’s wide, blown and more-than-content eyes every time, she’d finally let herself relax enough to take control. Lexa’s occasional, encouraging squeeze to her breast or hip did the rest to quell whatever hesitations might be left over. 

She’s in the middle of sighing Lexa’s name when suddenly, strong hands are gripping her hips and pulling her off. She loses her balance for a moment until Lexa slides her down her stomach and Clarke can catch herself on either side of Lexa’s head. 

She looks at Lexa, startled and confused, but Lexa just continues to re-situate them until Clarke is laying flush on top of her and Lexa’s thigh is between her legs. Lexa’s hands go back to her hips and encourages her to rock against her thigh, the pressure and friction so enticing that she momentarily forgets her question. 

“I’m sorry,” Lexa whispers, kissing her cheek. “I just want to be able to kiss you at midnight. Use my thigh, keep going.”

It’s then that Clarke recognizes the chanting she’d vaguely registered at the boundaries of her consciousness. “Eight _, seven, six–_

“Keep going,” Lexa whispers again, and rocks Clarke’s hips forward, reminding her. 

Clarke shutters and lowers her head back down, eagerly letting Lexa claim what she’d wanted. It’d only been minutes since she’d had Lexa’s lips last, but now that they’re back she realizes how much she’d come to miss them. 

Within seconds, Lexa’s thigh is hot and slick, making it effortless to glide back and forth until Clarke is gasping in tandem, quickly returning to the precipice of hyperventilation again. Lexa’s hands are at her back and in her hair, claiming her with a protective, possessive hold that makes everything happening between her thighs all the more wonderful. 

“I’m so close, Lexa,” she quietly cries when Lexa moves from her lips to watch her. Midnight had passed, she’d barely noticed it in the way that the living room erupted down the hall and fireworks shattered the night sky. But those were fuzzy details compared to the way Lexa had kissed her a little harder, a little deeper, with a little more emphasis when that bell finally chimed, ushering in the new year to the sound of Clarke’s needy whimpers.

Lexa smiles at her and helps her along, slipping her hand between Clarke and her thigh, pushing two fingers inside of her and offering up the heel of her palm. 

And that does the trick like no other. _“Oh shit,”_ Clarke pants, “ _oh god. Lexa. Oh fu–oh–”_ She freezes, forehead pressing into Lexa’s, mouth hanging open in an almost silent cry as Lexa pushes up into her, giving her something deep to clench around.

When it passes, her cry is vocalized as she collapses in a sweaty heap to Lexa’s chest, her own heaving up and down in a desperate attempt to keep up with her run-away heart beat.

Lexa runs her palms soothingly up her back, shushing and kissing until Clarke has stopped twitching and panting, shuttering through her aftershocks with every gentle press of Lexa’s thigh. 

“Happy New Year, Clarke,” Lexa whispers into her cheek, then kisses her there and every where until Clarke is giggling and toppling off of her onto her side. 

“Happy New Year,” she sighs, pulling Lexa over to her. “I like this one already.”


	37. I Do Until I Don't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Girl please do a lil angsty one shot with clexa getting divorced and their kid doesn't understand whyyy. I need some angst rn. 
> 
> Note: happy ending, clexa endgame.

 

 

“I saw you, Lexa! I _saw_ you.”

 

“You didn’t see shit, Clarke! I would _never_ do that to you!”

 

“Are you calling me a liar?”

 

“I’m calling you blind! Or something! What the _hell,_ Clarke?! I mean, really? You’re gonna ask me for a divorce over a blurry tabloid picture?! We’ve been married for ten god damn years!” Lexa slams her hand against their kitchen wall and begins to pace, anger and panic rippling off of her like a wild animal.

 

“Keep your voice down,” Clarke hisses, “you’ll wake Lexi up.”

 

Lexa swipes the tabloid off the counter and chucks it across the room, needing some quieter form of venting. “This is ridiculous. You’re being ridiculous.”

 

“Just sign them, Lexa.” Clarke tries to force the manila envelope into her hands.

 

“Get that away from me.”

 

“Sign them. And then get out of my house.”

 

Lexa stops and stares, eyes just hard enough to hide the pain underneath. “I won’t.”

 

Clarke shoves folder against Lexa’s chest with enough force to knock Lexa back a few steps, and Lexa knows that’s her pain talking. Lexa knows that when her wife is in pain, when she’s barely holding it together, she gets hard and strong and vicious. She knows, because she knows her wife. Her best friend, her lover. She knows her better than anything.

 

“Don’t do this, Clarke. It’s only been a week.  Why are you just now bringing it up?”

 

“I wanted to have the papers first.”

 

“Give me a change to fix to this.”

 

Clarke stares at her as if she might actually be deliberating. But then her head drops for a long time and when it finally rises, there are tears in her eyes.

 

“Every time I close my eyes, I see you kissing her, Lexa. _Touching_ her. Fuck. _Inside_ her,” Clarke cries.

 

“That never happened! None of that happened! Clarke, please—“

 

“Don’t touch me.” Clarke steps back and yanks her arm out of Lexa’s tentative grasp. “I know what I saw.”

 

“What you _think_ you saw _.”_

“God dammit, Lexa, it’s right here!” Clarke grabs the tabloid off the floor and points to the front cover. “For the whole fucking world to see! I got a call from my _mother_ asking me if I’d seen the news!”

 

“It’s not news! It’s junk! Since when have we ever paid attention to that shit?!”

 

“Since Nylah was there! Since she saw it! Since she corroborated the whole thing!”

 

“Oh jesus fuck, _come on!_ You can’t trust Nylah! She’s in love with you! She’d say anything to break us up.”

 

“Yeah, and Echo? What about her? She was there too—“

 

“Echo hates me! You know that! She’d do anything to get back at me for mother!”

 

“Echo isn’t Nia. She can’t be punished for her mother’s mistakes. Besides, maybe hates you because she doesn’t have any respect for lying, shitbag cheaters!”

 

“Wow.” Lexa takes a step back, nodding slowly like she’s trying to process. “Okay.”

 

“Lexa—“

 

“You’ve actually gone and lost your fucking mind.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“You’re going to let…let people like _them_ dictate our lives? Ten years of marriage, fifteen years together total? Seriously? You’re gonna throw that away because you saw a _blurry_ picture of me in a _dark as fuck_ bar supposedly kissing some girl? A picture where you can’t even tell it’s me? One that’s likely photoshopped? There’s like half a fucking face visible there!”

 

“Nylah and Echo—“

 

“Nylah and Echo are meddling fucks who have been trying to get between us since high school!”

 

“Why were you there?”

 

Lexa stills at the quiet tone of Clarke’s voice. She takes a step closer, encouraged by the sudden passivity.  “What?”

 

“Why were you at that bar?”

 

“I was closing a deal.”

 

“That couldn’t be done at the office?”

 

“He was a good ‘ol boy type. I told you. I _told_ you that morning. I told you I was going to meet him after work.”

 

“And you needed to do it at a bar?”

 

“I told you he was a bourbon kind of guy.”

 

So you needed to booze him up.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“To connect with him.”

 

“Yes.”

 

Clarke nods like she believes her. It’s disarming.

 

“And did you need to stick your tongue down some girl’s throat to connect with him too?”

 

“Oh for christ’s sake, Clarke! What do I need to do to convince you?”

 

“Just.” Clarke throws up her hands, unable to stop the small whimper that escapes. “Just sign the papers.”

 

“You’re not even going to give me a chance? Just like that, you want a divorce? What about Lexie? What about our family? Our life? This wonderful, beautiful life we’ve built together?”

 

“Don’t put that on me. Don’t. _You_ did this. Just you.”

 

“But I didn’t! Clarke, I would never cheat on you! I have no reason to! I’m so,” Lexa chokes on the lump in her throat, ‘god I’m so in love with you, baby, please.”

 

“Sign the papers, Lexa.”

 

“Clarke—“

 

“Sign the fucking papers!”

 

“No!”

 

Clarke swears and storms past her wife, but Lexa grabs her by the waist and yanks her back. In one swift motion she pushes her against the fridge and presses their bodies together, Lexa’s lips finding Clarke’s in desperation. Clarke doesn’t pull away. She let’s herself be kissed. She lets herself feel the warm familiarity of her wife’s hands on her cheeks, her lips searching and devouring. Her hips, her strong and firm and sure hips pressing her into place like they have so many times before.

 

They paint each other’s cheeks with their tears until Clarke turns her head when Lexa moves to adjust. Her eyes are closed, but she can feel Lexa watching her, waiting. She can feel when Lexa finally gives up and moves away from her. When she opens her eyes, Lexa is holding the papers in her hand, trembling.

 

Their eyes meet.

 

“I can’t sign these,” Lexa whispers. “I can’t.”

 

Clarke bites her tingling bottom lip. She shakes her head.

 

“I can’t lose you.”

 

“Don’t,” Clarke gasps. “Don’t do that. I told you when we started this. I _told_ you. Cheating is the one thing I can’t forgive. You know that. Finn…he…he destroyed me, Lexa, you _know_ that. He …and you…I _told_ you.”

 

“I know,” Lexa says, shaking her head as she walks back over to her. She reaches for Clarke’s shoulders, but Clarke shrugs her off and crosses arms, folding into herself. “Clarke. Sweetheart, I need you to hear me. Listen to me. I did not cheat on you. I did not kiss that girl.”

 

“Please, just get out, Lexa. Just leave.”

 

“I’m not going to do that.”

 

Clarke looks back up at her, eyes ablaze. “I’m not asking you.”

 

“You can’t kick me out. This is my house too.”

 

Clarke unfurls, standing at her full height, though still she’s a good six inches shorter than her wife. “Get out of my house.”

 

“No.”

 

“Get out of my—“

 

“No!”

 

“Get out of my fucking house!”

 

“Mommy?”

 

They both whip around, stunned into silence by their little girl’s presence. She’s beautiful, a spitting image of both of them with her wild brown hair and bright, blue eyes. Her thumb is inching towards her mouth and her blankie drags along the floor behind her as she shuffles into the kitchen, sleepy and warm and innocent.

 

“Baby,” Clarke breathes, eyes flitting over to Lexa briefly, “Hi. Why are you up, sweetheart?”

 

“Is loud.”

 

“Oh, baby. I’m sorry.”

 

Lexie shuffles forward with her tiny, bare feet. She wanders over to Lexa and presses her body into her leg, wrapping around her with her free arm. Clarke bites at her cheek and Lexa tries and fails to hide the whimper in her throat. She reaches down and gently runs her fingers through her toddler’s hair. She looks at Clarke, silently pleading with her, but Clarke just reaches down and sweeps Lexie up into her arms.

 

“Let’s get you back to bed, love.” She presses her to her shoulder and cups her hand over her little ear. “I want you gone by the time I get back.”

 

//

 

When Clarke walks back into the kitchen, her feet heavy and heart heavier, Lexa is nowhere to be found. The manila envelope is still on the kitchen island, but there’s a yellow sticky note on it with Lexa’s familiar chicken scratch.

 

_Clarke,_

_I love you. I will fight for you._

_I refuse to give up on us, and_

_I will show you it isn’t what you think._

_Please call me when you’re ready._

_Love,_

_L_

The words blur the longer she looks at it, tears stinging her eyes until there’s no point anymore. She wraps her shawl around her tighter as she walks into the living room and wanders over to the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows looking out on Manhattan. High above it all, with the lights and cars so small against the black blanket of night, she suddenly feels so alone.

 

She grips her chest as a sob escapes her. It brings her to her knees, one hand braced against the cold glass of the window in front of her. She sits there like that for more minutes than she can count, shaking and crying and wondering how they’d gotten here. What she could have done different. Why Lexa had felt the need to—maybe if she’d been more affectionate. Maybe if she’d been more understanding when Lexa was stressed. Maybe if they’d had sex more often. Maybe if—

 

Maybe this was just always meant to b her fate. First Finn. Now Lexa.

 

//

 

Its cold and wet when Lexa steps out of her office late Friday night. It’d been a week, and still there’d been no call from Clarke. She hadn’t heard her daughter’s laugh or seen her smile in just as long and that was perhaps the hardest. That, and the way an empty bed felt after more than a decade of sleeping next to someone. Not just someone. The love of her life.

 

She recedes into her long, black coat as she waits impatiently for the valet. She’s short tempered and bitter. She’d snapped at more employees than she could count today, fired another, though he had been asking for it, and cancelled a meeting with one of her most important business partners simply for being 5 minutes late to the call.

 

Because she was sad. _Is_ sad. So sad that it radiates through every part of her body, weighing down her bones like lead, clogging her mind like fog, making it impossible to want to continue on with each day.

 

It’s like this that Raven finds her nearly drenched from the rain on the curb of 5th Avenue.

 

“So it’s true then?”

 

Lexa pulls her head out of her phone and stares blankly for a moment before registering Raven and her question.

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“You broke her heart. Cheated on her?”

 

“Not now, Raven.”

 

“What’s the matter with you?”

 

“It’s not what you think—“

 

“Just tell me I’m wrong, Lexa. Tell me you didn’t break her.”

 

Lexa pockets her phone and squares up, giving Raven a good, long look. “I didn’t.”

 

“So I’m wrong?”

 

“You’re wrong.”

 

“And Nylah? Echo? The photographic evidence? I’m guessing they’re wrong too.”

 

“That’s not evidence and you fucking know it. Anyone could have fabricated that photo. My _child_ could have fabricated that photo.”

 

Raven scoffs. “To what end?”

 

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask Echo and Nylah. They seem all to eager to offer up their side of the story.”

 

“I hope for your sake you’re right. Because if you’re lying to me. If you cheated on her, after everything, after Finn…I will end you.”

 

Lexa steps into her space. “Are you threatening me, Reyes? I hope for _your_ sake that wasn’t a threat.”

 

Raven takes a step back, Lexa being an admittedly imposing figure, but she steels her face and crosses her arms. “Just prove me wrong, Lexa. For the love of god. ”

 

//

 

“When’s momma coming back?”

 

Clarke swallows, her hands pausing in the soapy, bath water for a moment before renewing their ministrations. She scoops a cup up and gently pours it over Lexie’s damp curls. “Um.” She works at the knot in her throat. “You’ll see her soon,” she says. A half truth.

 

“I miss momma.”

 

Clarke sinks back onto her heels and buries her nose into her shoulder, clenching her eyes shut.

 

“Mommy?

 

“Mhm?”

 

“Why mad at momma?”

 

“I’m not mad, baby.”

 

“But you yewwed.”

 

“We weren’t yelling, baby, we were just talking. I’m sorry it was loud.”

 

“Can momma wead story night?”

 

“How about mommy reads you a story tonight?”

  
“No momma!” Lexie slams her little fists into the water and bursts into tears, wailing through all of Clarke’s attempts to calm her down.

 

Clarke doesn’t behave much differently when she finally crawls into bed hours later, still damp from Lexie’s outburst in the bath, but too depressed to care.

 

//

 

A knock at her door, way too late at night, has Echo tiptoeing towards her door with vase in hand. She’s ready to smash it over the intruder’s head when suddenly Lexa’s wet face pops into view through her front window.

 

She opens the door and lowers the face, smirking slightly. “You look like shit, Woods.”

 

“Why’d you do it?”

 

“Do what?”

 

Lexa stares at her, almost rabid. Her eyes are red and swollen, her coat heavy with weeks worth of rain that refused to let up. “Don’t fucking play with me, Echo. Why are you doing this to me? How could you be so cruel?”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lexa, and I suggest you get off my property before I call the cops on you for trespassing.”

 

 “Just give me a god damn answer. Lie to me, I don’t fucking care. Just give me an answer. Please.”

 

Echo leans in and chuckles. “You know what the best part about it is? I hardly had to do a thing. Clearly, your wife must have such little trust in you that all it takes is a stock photo of a girl with high cheek bones and brown hair. I find that hilarious, don’t you?”

 

“I will fucking—“

 

“Ah, ah, ah. Ae you threatening me, Lexa? That’s verbal assault. Wouldn’t want that on the record would we? Might make getting any kind of joint custody over little Lexa Jr. kind of difficult.”

 

//

 

Clarke stares at her closet, trying to find it somewhere in herself to care enough about the day to get dressed. She weeds through her clothes, noting the very limited amount of options she has due to the growing pile of dirty laundry in the corner.

 

She pushes hanger after hanger mindlessly aside until her fingers grasp something silky and she stops.

 

She runs the lilac satin through her fingers, tears automatically springing to her eyes as she caressed the tie. Lexa’s favorite. The very tie she’d been wearing _that_ night.

 

//

 

_She wakes up to Lexa’s lips so soft and gentle on hers. Kissing her awake, she’s rewarded with the most beautiful smile sparkling all the way up into her favorite pair of green eyes._

_“Good morning, my love.”_

_Clarke smiles and stretches, chuckling when Lexa takes the opportunity to kiss and nip at the breadth of her exposed neck as she arches into awareness._

_“What time is it?”_

_Lexa climbs on top of her, wet hair draping down to cascade around their faces. “Almost six.”_

_“How was your run?”_

_“Good.”_

_“And your shower?”_

_“Missed you in it.”_

_“You couldve’ woken me up.”_

_Lexa hums as she drags her lips down Clarke’s bare chest. She kisses her sternum. “I wanted to let you sleep. I know Lexie was up with nightmares again.”_

_“I can’t believe Raven let her watch that movie.”_

_“Don’t worry, I already spoke with her.”_

_Lexa circles her belly button._

_  
“You’re such a good mom.”_

_Lexa kisses her pubic bone, then slides her hands underneath Clarke, opening her up._

_“So are you.”_

_Lexa’s tongue parts her and Clarke gasps, head jerking off the pillow as her hand tangles itself into Lexa’s hair. “Shit.”_

_“You taste so good, baby.”_

_Clarke searches for something else to latch onto, and finds Lexa’s hand. She gets a gentle squeeze before it’s gone again._

_“Lex-oh. Shit.” Lexa pushes into her, slow and deep. One finger. Then two, easily. Despite the early morning time, Clarke is thoroughly wet and warm._

_Making Clarke come is easy. Lexa knows her wife like she nows her own body. She takes pride in knowing her wife. Her pleasure. Her tells. Getting Clarke there is easy, but she takes her sweet time, stretching out the hour they have until it feels like days, and Clarke can barely catch her breath._

_Lexa kisses her where she’s swollen and pink when she’s done, earning a little jerk of Clarke’s hips that makes her smile. When she crawls back up the beautiful, naked expanse of Clarke’s body, Clarke is eager to kiss her. To taste herself on her wife’s lips and bask in the afterglow of her wife’s arms wrapped tightly around her._

_Lexa kisses her on the head._

_“Well good morning to you too,” Clarke sighs._

_“I love you so much.”_

_Clarke kisses her. On the lips. On the nose. “I love you too, Lex.”_

_//_

_“What are you gonna wear today?”_

_“Pick it out for me?”_

_Clarke smiles and jumps off the bed. She loves this. Their routine. Lexa’s trust. “What’ve you got?”_

_“The usual.”_

_“Any meetings?”_

_“Oh. Shit, yeah. I’m meeting this man after work today. Old guard type. Takes his burbon on the rocks. That kind.”_

_  
“So then I’m thinking muted tones”_

_Lexa smiles and comes up behind her, cradling her. “That sounds great.”_

_//_

_“Let me help.” Clarke swats Lexa’s hands away and adjusts the knot of Lexa’s tie. “There.” When she looks up, she’s met with such adoration in Lexa’s soft, green eyes it makes her knees weak._

_“I thought we said muted.”_

_Clarke grins. “This is muted.”_

_“It’s purple.”_

_Clarke hums._

_“Clarke—“_

_“It’s lilac.”_

_Lexa smiles. “Lilac.”_

_“Mhm.”_

_“It’s my favorite.”_

_Clarke smiles and runs her hand down it, smoothing it into her vest. “It is.”_

_“Do you remember?”_

_Clarke blushes and can’t help but recall the first time she’d encountered this tie on Lexa. That late night at Lexa’s internship office, fresh out of college. The way her mouth had watered at the look of it around Lexa’s neck, the way it softened the tan skin of her bare torso as Clarke stripped her out of white Oxford shirt and pulled their bodies together._

_She kisses Lexa to hide her blush._

_Lexa chuckles. “So you do, then.”_

_“Of course I do.”_

_“It’s my favorite.”_

_Clarke laughs and rolls her eyes, tucking herself into Lexa’s arms. “It’s mine too.”_

_“Momma!”_

_  
They pull a part, smiling as their little, wild thing comes bounding into their bedroom, hair flying in every direction._

_“Mommy! Brefast!”_

_Lexa smiles and scoops her up, saving Clarke from the tornado of shrieks and squeals. She squeezes her tight and peppers her with kisses until her daughter is a giggling mess and pressing her little hands against Lexa’s face._

_“I’ll get breakfast started while you get ready,” she says chuckling as she tries to avoid those little hands now poking at her cheeks._

_“Okay.” But Clarke doesn’t move, she stands there, one hand on her wife’s back, the other stroking through the fine baby hairs framing her little girl’s face, beaming._

_“Pwetty momma,” Lexie says, taking Lexa’s tie between her tiny fingers._

_“You like it?”_

_Lexie beams. “I wike it!”_

_Clarke’s head falls to Lexa’s shoulder as she watches on, so happy she could almost cry._

_//_

Clarke blinks tears onto her cheeks and releases the tie before deciding that a t-shirt and jeans would be good enough for this day.

 

//

 

When Clarke walks down the hallway late Wednesday evening, wet and miserable, she’s so surprised to see Lexa’s sitting there with her head against the door, she almost drops all her bags of groceries.

 

Her wife appears to be asleep. Her mouth hangs slightly open as her chest rises gently up and down in her disheveled suit. Clarke clocks the tie—a plain, silver, skinny thing. It could mean only one thing. Lawyers.

 

//

 

_“That color’s boring. Wear this one.” Clarke holds up a loud, teal tie from the bottom of Lexa’s tie rack._

_“I wish I could, baby, but I’m meeting with the lawyers today. Lawyers mean professional and professional means monotone.”_

_“But you hate grey.”_

_“I also hate lawyers,” Lexa says, winking._

_“Still looks good.”_

_“Think so?”_

_Clarke nods and wraps herself around her wife. “My wife looks good anything.”_

_//_

Her stomach plummets before she’s able to catch it. This is what she wanted. This is what she asked for. She isn’t allowed to be upset at the idea of Lexa having potentially met with divorce lawyers.

 

“Clarke.”

 

Clarke’s eyes rise from the floor and fall on Lexa’s pale face, the dark circles under her eyes, the weight loss accentuating her jaw and cheek bones.  “What are you doing here?”

 

Lexa scrambles upwards and hands her a slim, white envelope. “Here.”

 

“What’s this?”

 

“A check.”

 

“A check? Why?”

 

Lexa swallows and runs a hand through her wet hair. Clarke almost smiles at the familiarity of her wife’s nervous tick. “I just found out Anya went behind my back and froze our joint account. That’s for Lexie. Or you…you know, whatever. Whatever you guys might need it for. Until I can get the account unfrozen.”

 

“Oh.” Clarke looks at the envelope. “I thought…I thought that was you.”

 

Lexa tisks. “I would never do that to you.”

 

Clarke looks at her and Lexa gives her a small, timid smile. “Let me know if you need more.”

 

For a moment, Clarke wants to slip into the warmth of Lexa’s familiar sweetness. Her gentleness. She open the envelope and pulls the check out. Her eyes widen and she gasps. “Lexa. This is too much.”

 

“It’s yours.”

 

Clarke shakes her head, eyes stinging. “No, it’s not. This is _your_ money.”

 

“It’s ours.”

 

Clarke’s head falls back as she blinks up at the ceiling, fingers aching under the weight of her grocery bags.

 

“Please, Clarke. Let me help. I know how hard it is being a stay-at-home mom.”

 

“I have income from my paintings.”

 

“It’s not steady.”

 

“It’s steady enough.”

 

“Just let me help, Clarke. At least until the account is back online.”

 

Clarke lets the grocery bags fall and runs her hands over her face, thankful that there’s no make-up there to be careful of. Her fingers comb through her hair, and by the time she looks back up at Lexa, her wife’s eye are shiny.

 

“You’re so beautiful,” Lexa whispers, wet and small.

 

“Stop. Don’t—“ Clarke swallows thickly, “don’t.”

 

“I’m sorry. I just. I miss you.”

 

Clarke breaks and she lets the tears fall. “I miss you too.”

 

“I want to come home.”

 

“I’m not ready yet.”

 

“Yet?” Lexa asks, hope tinting her voice.

 

“I haven’t forgiven you.”

 

“I didn’t cheat on you.”

 

Somehow this seems to sober Clarke, and suddenly the anger is back. As if just saying the word “cheat” made it real again. “I need you to go.”

 

“Clarke—“

 

“Go, Lexa.”

 

Lexa doesn’t move, just turns her eyes to the floor, hands coming together to pick nervously at her finger tips.  “This isn’t fair. I didn’t do anything wrong. You can’t treat me like this.”

 

“You cheated on me.”

 

“I didn’t.”

 

“I don’t believe you.”

 

“I know. And that hurts so much.”

 

Clarke blinks, a sliver of something new creeping up into her throat. Something that makes her hands go cold and her mouth go dry. Something that tastes an awful lot like doubt. She swallows the feeling down and forces herself to look at her wife.

 

“You’re hurting me,” Lexa whispers, her eyes wide and full of tears.

 

Clarke’s lip trembles as her heart tears itself to pieces. She wants to apologize, but her anger keeps her silent.

 

 “But I’m not going to stop. I’m not. So either you tell me you never want to see me again, or you work with me.”

 

Clarke whimpers and leans herself against the wall, closing her eyes. “I want to believe you,” she cries. “I…I want to more than anything. But every time I close my eyes I think of you touching her. It makes me sick to my stomach.”

 

She flinches when Lexa’s fingers touch her cheeks, but she relaxes as soon as she realizes she’s being caressed. Her eyes open and Lexa is inches away, her gaze flitting over her face a mile a minute as the pads of her fingers trace the curve of her features.

 

“I would never hurt you.”

 

Lexa’s words ache through Clarke. _You’re hurting me._  “I don’t know what to do.”

 

Lexa presses their foreheads together. “Just trust me.”

 

Clarke’s eyes fall to her lips. She loves those lips. Or loved. No…loves. Still loves. She licks her own and tries to quell the yearning inside of her. 

 

“Trust me,” Lexa begs, her hands resting unthreateningly on either side of Clarke’s neck. Her thumb occasionally sweeps across her jaw line. “Please trust me.”

 

Clarke takes a deep breath and nods. “I want to.”

 

Lexa smiles, hope bubbling in her stomach.  But then—

 

“But I can’t.”

 

It’s like a punch to the stomach. For both of them. Lexa’s thumb stills, she stands back abruptly, recoiling in such a way that Clarke instantly feels cold with her distance.

 

When Clarke looks at her, she’s frightened to see an old lifelessness to Lexa’s eyes. A numbness to her face. It’d been years since Clarke had seen that look. Years since that Lexa—terrified and bitter and angry—had sat alone at lunch every day in high school, flinching at every passing teenager who’d walked too close to her. Years since that Lexa—aggressive and distrusting and vulnerable—had stumbled into the girl’s bathroom, bloody lip and nose dripping all over the sink next to Clarke’s.

 

Suddenly, it’s as if Clarke is looking at seventeen-year-old Lexa, bullied and broken and utterly lost, and she can’t help the overwhelming urge she has to protect and love and sooth. The same urge that had found her holding a whimpering Lexa that day in the girl’s bathroom as she dabbed at her busted lip.

 

But unlike that Lexa, so needy for love and attention, so pliant in Clarke’s arms, this Lexa is hard and cold and angry. This Lexa steps away from her, heartbreak raging like a hurricane in her eyes.

 

“Go get them.”

 

“What?”

 

“Go get the fucking papers. I’ll sign your fucking papers.”

 

Clarke freezes and her heart beat kicks into overdrive.

 

Lexa laughs and it sends chills up Clarke’s spine. “This is some fucking life. My parents, dead. My wife hates me and wants a divorce. My friends…well they’re of course on my wife’s side and just can’t help themselves. They’ve wanted to hate me for so long. Their precious Clarke being corrupted by the foster kid with too many problems. I bet they’re just having a fucking field day with this.”

 

“Lex, that’s not true—“

 

“Oh and did I tell you? Found out last week Echo’s mother has been skimming money off the top _way_ longer than just the past year. State wants to indict me too since I didn’t notice it sooner which means I _must_ be complicit. Guess I was too busy cheating on my wife to notice my CFO scamming me for years. I spoke with the lawyers again today about testifying against her in court, but you’re probably right, there’s no way her daughter could have a big enough vendetta against me to try to tear my life apart. As for my own daughter? What daughter? Haven’t seen her in months. Probably has no idea who I am anymore.” Lexa laughs. “Who the fuck was I in a past life to land this shit pile of an existence? I must’ve been pretty fucking terrible. But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

 

“Lex—“

 

“No, you know what? I’m done. I can’t. I tried, Clarke, and I’m tired. I’m so tired. I can’t be here any more, so just send me your papers. I’ll sign them, whatever you want. But if you think for one second you’re going to keep my daughter away from me any longer, you’re in for a rude awakening.”

 

And with that, she’s gone faster than Clarke can register the calamity.

 

//

 

  
“Can you tell me more about it?” Clarke swirls her salad around on her plate, eyes occasionally glancing up Echo. “I just…need to hear it. You know? To make it real.”

 

“Clarke, you don’t need to hear that bullshit,” Octavia sighs, “Just sign the papers and get it over with. You need to be trying to move on.”

 

“It’s just hard to…it’s just surreal. I just want to hear it again before I sign. I want to know exactly what happened.”

 

“You know what happened,” Raven retorts. “She doesn’t deserve justification. You’re being too nice as it is.”

 

“How am I being to nice? I haven’t so much as talked to her in months.”

 

“You’re letting her see Lexie. That’s too nice. She doesn’t deserve it.”

 

“She’s her mother. She’s _named_ after her. I couldn’t keep them apart any longer.”

 

“You’re her mother.”

 

Clarke sighs. “She’s just as much Lexa’s as she is mine. I kept her away for too long as it is. They were both miserable.”

 

“And where’s Lexie now?”

 

“With Lexa. Can we not talk about Lexie right now? I just want to know I’m doing the right thing.”  

 

“I totally get it, Clarke,” Echo smiles. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this.” She places her hand over Clarke’s for a moment and squeezes.

 

“Thanks,” she murmurs. “So…about that night.”

 

“Well you know. She was drunk.”

 

“Drunk? I don’t remember you saying that the first time. She didn’t come home drunk.”  

 

“Mmm, yeah. Yeah, she was pretty far gone, according to Nylah. Had about three Long Islands.”

 

Clarke frowns.  Maybe Echo had the drink wrong.

 

“When Nylah cut her off, she took off somewhere.”

 

“What happened to the guy?”

 

“What guy?”

 

“The guy she was meeting? The older guy, grey hair, likes bourbon?”

 

“Oh. Oh, he was long gone by that point. Meeting was short.”

 

//

 

_Lexa trudges through the door, rubbing at her head, but immediately perks when Clarke wanders out of the kitchen with Lexie in her arms._

_  
“What are my girls doing up? It’s so late!”_

_Clarke smiles and greets her in the foyer, raising up for a kiss. “This little one had another nightmare.”_

_“Oh no. My poor baby. What’s goin on in there?” Lexa asks, poking around Lexie’s ears as if she can see into her head. Lexie bursts into giggles_ _and snuggles further into Clarke’s neck to escape the inspection._

_“How was your meeting?”_

_Lexa sighs and drapes her briefcase and jacket over a chair in the living room before plopping down and dragging Clarke and Lexie into her lap. “Long. This guy would not shut up. Just went on and on about his business theories which are decades outdated.”_

_“Bummer. So no luck?”_

_“Well, not quite. He’s got some interesting insight on the history of engineering firm stocks and their fluctuations over the years. Might be useful for our investments team.”_

_“Well that’s good!”_

_“Das good, momma!” Lexie echoes, clapping her little hands together._

_Clarke chuckles and grabs Lexa by the tie, their favorite tie, and kisses her sound on the lips._

//

 

“Clarke?”

 

“I’m sorry.” Clarke shakes her head and frowns. “You said the meeting was short?”

 

“I mean, seemed to be. I didn’t see him around any.”

 

“What time did you get there?”

 

“Oh I don’t know.” Echo checks her watch as if it’ll help her remember. “Around eight.”

 

“Lexa was home around nine. Doesn’t give her much time to fuck around,” Clarke thinks aloud.

 

“Well no, but she’s was like well into it by the time I showed up. Had this girl all over her. Don’t know how either of them were getting enough air.”

 

Clarke closes her eyes and tries not to vomit at the image, her heart beating heavily against her sternum.

 

“That’s enough,” Raven cuts in, but Clarke waves her off, shaking her head.

 

“No it’s okay. Keep going.”

 

Echo smiles sympathetically. “You sure?”

 

Clarke nods.

 

“Well they’re making out for a while. I’m sitting there stunned, like I don’t know what to do. Do I interfere? Do I let it go? I don’t know. So I’m just kind of like watching, frozen in place, wondering what the hell is happening. I’ve just about worked up the courage to go over there in chew her out when I see this bitch leading Lexa out by her tie. Like actually pulling on her tacky, red tie.”

 

Clarke freezes, and her blood runs cold. Her heart thumps wildly as her eyes come up slowly to meet Echo. “What?”

 

“Yeah. I remember, because I remember thinking that if Lexa just happened to choke, I wouldn’t be torn up about it,” Echo laughs.

 

“This girl was pulling Lexa by the tie?”

 

“Mhm.”

 

“Her red tie?”

 

“Yep. And Lexa totally dug it.”

 

Clarke lowers her fork and wipes her mouth, gathering her words and thoughts. She turns to Echo, her eyes hard. “Lexa doesn’t own a red tie.”

 

Echo’s eyes go wide. “Oh, well. Maybe it was maroon. The lighting was dark, I don’t know the exact color.”

 

Clarke nods, and Echo seems to relax, but Clarke’s not done. She shifts forward and bores into the fidgety woman across from her. “Lexa doesn’t drink Long Islands. She’s allergic to black tea. And her meeting with the business man was not short. It was long. So long, Lexa came home with a headache.

 

Echo stutters and tries to back track, but Clarke is done. She’s furious and embarrassed and ashamed. She shove her chair back and stand, grabbing her purse. 

 

“And Echo?” Clarke takes her drink and dumps it over Echo’s head. “Her tie was fucking _lilac._ ”

 

Clarke storms away from the table and jogs to her car, fumbling through her purse for her phone. She’s desperate to reach Lexa. Desperate to apologize, to explain, to grovel and do whatever it takes to save her marriage.

 

“Fuck!” She growls when she can’t locate her cell. She slides into her car and dumps the contents out onto the passenger seat, diving for it once it became visible.

 

She’s ready to dial when she pauses, noticing the seven missed calls and nine text messages.

 

With trembling fingers she opens each one.

 

_Lincoln [12:23pm]: Clarke, you there? Pick up your phone._

_Anya [12:23]: Hey, you need to call me ASAP._

_Lincoln [12:25]: Seriously. Call me._

_Lincoln [12:30]: Where are you? Call me, it’s an emergency._

_Bellamy [12:35]: Don’t panic, but as soon as you get this, call me._

_Lincoln [12:36]: CLARKE PICK UP UR FUCKING PHONE_

_Kane [12:40]: Hey, your mom and I are with Lexie, don’t worry._

_Anya [12:42]: Clarke, please. Look I know you guys are fighting, but I can’t do this alone. Please. Call me back._

//

 

When she pulls up, there’s ringing in her ears, and everything seems to be slightly off its axis, as if she’s just spun in circles and  beenasked to stand on one foot. There are fire trucks and police cars everywhere, and for a moment, Clarke is frozen in place. Her eye wide with terror, her grip on the steering wheel so firm it hurts, but she’s too petrified to notice.

 

A teenager running by her car on the phone yanks her back into reality, and then she’s tumbling out of the car, her legs barely able to keep her up right as she stumbles towards the thick of the crowd. 

 

Someone grabs her, and she yelps and flails, suddenly conscious and aware and overwhelmed by what she’s walking towards. She fights the grip on her wrist, but then she’s being tugged out of the crowd and towards the back of a fire truck, Lincolns horrified face swimming into view.

 

“Clarke—“

 

“Where is she? Where is she, Lincoln? Where is she, where’s my wife?”

 

“Clarke, you need to listen to me.” He fights his tears to get his words out. “Listen to me.”

 

“Where is she?”

 

“It’s not good, Clarke. Okay? It’s not good. It’s really, bad. It’s really fucking bad, so you have to be strong okay? You have to be strong.”

 

“Oh god,” Clarke wails, “oh god. What—what happened?”

 

Lincoln drags her wordlessly towards a fireman. “This is Clarke. This is her wife. She needs to see her.”

 

Clarke yanks her arm out of Lincoln’s grip and tries to catch her breath. “Where is she? What happened? Please—”

 

“M’am, I need you to be calm. I need you to be calm before I let you in there, can you do that?”

 

Clarke’s close to hyperventilating, but she digs her nails into her palms and nods.

 

“Your wife was struck by a car. She’s been pinned between it and a telephone pole, and we’re working to cut her out, but it’s a slow process. Her sister is with her right now trying to keep her conscious while we cut her out. That’s what we need right now, can you handle that?”

 

Clarke’s hands fall to her knees and she gasps for air, but finds none.

 

“Clarke—“ Lincoln puts his hand on her back, but the touch makes her sick and she empties her stomach onto the asphalt until she’s trembling so hard she can barely stand.

 

“She’s not ready,” the fireman says, “take her back.”

 

“No!” Clarke jerks and pushes herself up, eyes wide and wild. “No, I’m fine! I’m fine. Please. Please, god, I need to see her. Take me to her. Please, I have to see her.”

 

//

 

The first thing she sees is the black car, crunched up like an accordion against the telephone pole. Then she she sees the beads of shattered class, metal bits strewn about like some perfectly constructed movie scene.

 

The next thing she sees is Anya’s back, small and curved and shaking.

 

“Anya—“

 

Anya turns, her face a mess of fear and pain. “Clarke, hey,” Anya sniffs, reaching out for her. “Come’re, come’re she’s been asking for you.”

 

Clarke can’t move for fear of passing out, but Anya latches onto her hands and squeezes. “It’s okay, come’re. It’s okay.”

  
Clarke shuffles forward tentatively, her hand trembling in Anya’s grasp as she approaches.

 

“Here,” Anya shifts and pulls her down to the ground, but as soon as Anya had moved, Clarke had frozen, her heart clenching excruciatingly inside her chest as Lexa’s face came into view.

 

“Oh, Lex—“ She gasps, her hands flying to her chest and mouth as she gets in close.

 

Lexa’s mouth is covered in blood, her face a ghostly white in contrast. Clarke can tell she’s tired, or maybe in pain, because her eyes struggle to focus and are so dim they look grey.

 

“Lexie, baby,” she sniffs and quickly wipes at her eyes, trying not to scare Lexa with her tears, “hey, I’m here. I’m here, sweetheart.”

 

Lexa’s eyes roll to her, her hand—pinned up near her chest—shakes as she struggles to move it. Her mouth opens, a whimper comes out, but any possibility for words are snuffed out by the cough of blood that trickles down her chin with the effort.   
  
“Shh, don’t speak. It’s okay, don’t speak.”

 

Lexa continues to flex her hand with what little control she has until Clarke understands. With a choked back sob, she scoots closer and wraps her fingers around her wife’s red hand. “I’m here. Baby, I’m here.”

 

“’Scuse me,” a paramedic near by murmurs as they maneuver around behind the pole to adjust Lexa’s head slightly.

 

“Lexa, hey, no don’t close your eyes. Don’t close you’re eyes, you know you can’t.” Anya’s voice brings Clarke back to Lexa’s face, her heart picking up at the sight of Lexa’s eyes drooping.

 

“Hey, Lexa, keep those eyes open,” the paramedic says, reaching over to tap Lexa gently on the cheek.

 

Lexa groans, but does as she’s told, eyes immediately finding their way back to Clarke. She opens her mouth again, and the paramedic is forced to lean back over to place a suction in her mouth. The sound it makes draining the blood from her airways makes Clarke want to hurl again.

 

“Can she breathe? Is she in pain?”

 

“We’re doing the best we can,” the solemn woman murmurs, focusing on adjusting the cannula in Lexa’s nose.

 

“When will they be done? What’s taking so long?”

 

“We have to cut the car away in pieces to avoid jostling her.”

 

“Is she in pain?” She turns to Lexa and runs a palm over her forehead and hair. “Are you in pain, sweetheart?”

 

Lexa’s whimper overshadows whatever the paramedic’s answer is, and the fact that Clarke can’t scoop her up and hold her close makes her dizzy. She gets as close as she can and runs her hands over her cheeks and neck and everywhere she can reach without agitating, soothing and wiping away the blood as best she can.

 

“Hey—“ Anya presses her hand gently to Clarke’s back, “I’m gonna go be with Lincoln for a bit. Update him.”

 

Clarke nods and moves to let Anya in close.

 

“Hey, kid. I’m gonna go keep Lincoln updated, okay? I’ll be back. I love you.”

 

Lexa nods and gives her a weak smile, and then they’re alone. Clarke presses their foreheads together and cups her wife’s damp, freezing cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers, hanging on as if she can make up for lost time through touch. “I’m so sorry. I love you so much, Lexa. Do you hear me?”

 

Lexa’s eyes close just long enough for a few tears to spill out, but she nods and nuzzles weakly closer.

 

“I know now, okay? I know you didn’t do it. I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you, I—“ she can’t finish, too overcome and needing to breathe through the pain in her chest. A man in scrubs kneels beside them and sticks his arm in between them, check on Lexa’s pulse. He shines a light in her eyes and squeezes her finger tips, but all Clarke can see is the steady trickle of blood seeping out of the corner of Lexa’s mouth.

 

“Why is she bleeding?” She asks, hands resuming their soothing as soon as he has backed out of the way.

 

“It’s likely internal from the impact. We won’t know until we can get in there.”

 

“Are you almost done?”

 

“The problem is, the car was pierced by this street sign on impact—this thing, right here—“ he points to a thick piece of metal sticking out the back of the telephone pole. “It’s going through the pole and into the car. We can’t tell if it missed Lexa here or not, so we have to be very careful about cutting around it.”

 

“Is there anything I can do to make her more comfortable?”

 

The man frowns sympathetically at her and squeezes her shoulder. “You’re doing what you can.”

 

“I want to do more. I need to.”

 

He stands, and instantly Clarke misses his presence, as if just the fact that he’s a doctor makes things safer and more helpful.  “Just keep her conscious. Keep her positive.” He bends over and peers into Lexa’s eyes again. “You’re doing great, Lexa. We’re almost there.” And with that, he walks away leaving Clarke completely overwhelmed. She turns back to Lexa who brow if furrowed either with worry of discomfort.

 

“Hey you,” she whispers, stroking Lexa’s face. “You’re okay. It’s all going to be okay.”

 

For the first time, Lexa manages to sputter out one coherent sound—

 

“Lexie?”

 

Clarke smiles and brushes sticky strands of hair out of Lexa’s face. “She’s okay. She’s with my mom, I spoke to them on the way over.”

 

Lexa nods, a sigh of relief doing the opposite of actually relieving her as she erupts into a fit of clogged coughs.

  
“Shh, shh, shh, it’s okay. Take it easy, it’s okay.” It’s weak and watery and unconvincing, but Clarke clings to her own words like a life line as she presses their foreheads together again. She wipes at Lexa’s mouth, and without a second thought, kisses her—gently, desperately, apologetically. Whatever she can manage, she conveys into that kiss with all of her might. “I love you, Lexa,” she says in between, “I love you.” She can’t say it enough, terrified that this is it. Terrified that this is the last time she’ll every say that to Lexa—that she’d wasted all those months of possible “I love you”s, months of morning kisses and evening cuddles, months of family days at the park, months of sweet dates at new restaurants, months of sweeter love making after quietly paying their babysitter, checking on their little girl and undressing each other with quiet chuckles and easy embraces—all lost, wasted, on some cruel scheme by people she should have never trusted over her wife.

 

“Lexa—“ Clarke pulls away from Lexa’s lips, trying hard not to shudder against the metallic taste now coating her own mouth. She wipes at Lexa’s lips and chin uselessly.

 

Lexa whimpers at the loss of contact. It reminds Clarke so dearly of Lexa’s early morning whines—her sleepy sounds so defiant against the rising sun, so like their daughter with her wild hair and jaw breaking yawns—only this time, they’re not tangled together, soft and flushed under the warm blankets. They’re not fighting an alarm on an early Saturday, or kissing just “one more time.” This time, Lexa is cold and bloody. This time, she’s fighting for her life. And every kiss Clarke presses to her lips may be the last, so Lexa doesn’t have to ask for another.

 

But Clarke stops because she needs to talk to her. She needs to hear her, to connect with her. She needs her to know. Needs her understand that Lexa is her _life._ That there’s no world in which she could possibly live without her.

 

“Lexa—“

 

Lexa whines again and for once, Clarke chuckles, wiping at her tears. “Okay,” she concedes and presses back in, kissing her until, inevitably, Lexa begins coughing again. “Baby,” Clarke whines, hating the idea of making Lexa’s struggle worse. “Just breathe, okay? Just breathe.” She shimmies out of her coat and tucks it around her as best she can. She peers over at the fireman and their saws, close enough now to feel the wind created by their rotating blades. “We’re almost there. We’re almost there. And then we’re gonna get you all patched up okay?”

 

Lexa smiles sadly and shakes her head, weakly gripping onto Clarke’s hand. “ I’m gonna die here—“

 

“No. No, that’s not—no, Lexa. Do you hear me? You’re not going to die here. You can’t—“ she breaks down, shaking her head, “you can’t die, okay? I need you. I need you, I love you so much. I was such a fool, Lexa. I was so stupid and I’m so sorry. I don’t expect you to forgive me, you don’t have to, but you can’t leave me, okay? I don’t want to live in a world without you. I can’t. I need you.  Lexie needs you.”

 

//

 

“Lexie—can you drink for me? Please, for grandma?” Abby encourages the juice box closer to her grandchild’s face, but the toddler is stoic and ashen, her unblinking eyes trained on the door of the exam room.

 

Abby wipes at her tear-stained chinks, scrubs at the dirt and dried blood along her jaw—busy work to distract herself from the pitiful sight in front of her and the terrifying unknowns of her daughter-in-law’s state.

“Hey.” Marcus Kane walks in with a gentle smile, suit case, and light blue blankie. “I grabbed this while I was at it. Clarke texted about it just as I was leaving. ” He tucks a suitcase full of Clarke and Lexa’s clothes into the corner behind a chair before approaching Lexie with the blanket.

 

“How is Le—how are things going? Did she say?”

 

He shakes his head and drapes the well-loved fabric around Lexie’s neck. “I texted her letting her know I was grabbing things from the house. She thought Lexie might want her blankie. And then radio silence.”

 

Abby sighs. “I’m sure she’s overwhelmed.”

 

He nods and tries a few more times to get Lexie to drink, but the little girl is intent on keeping a watch on the door, waiting for Clarke and Lexa to walk through and scoop her up into their arms like they always did after a nightmare.

 

//

 

“Cold,” Lexa murmurs as the firemen slowly began to pull pieces of car away from her body.

 

“I know, baby,” Clarke says, brushing at her tears, “I know. Almost there.”

 

Lexa’s head lulls to Clarke’s chest, heavy and hot with fever. An occasional whimper makes it out of her, but otherwise the scene is eerily quiet save for the jarring sounds of scraping and tearing metal.

 

But then it all stops and shadow overcomes them. Clarke looks up and meets the dirty, concerned face of a fireman.

 

“Ma’am, we’re ready to move the last piece. I’m going to need you to step aside.”

 

It tears Clarke up inside, makes her blood run cold and her heart pound, but with one last kiss, she takes a step back and watches.

 

It’s like a choreographed, terrifying dance from hell. Their trusty paramedic and doctor kneels on either side of Lexa, holding her in place, stabilizing things and giving each other murmured warnings.

 

A team of firemen carefully latch onto the last bit of bumper, and on “three” begin peeling it back at an agonizing pace.

 

Her eyes flutter back and forth from the firemen to Lexa, trying to keep track of everything all at once, but it’s almost impossible with the quickly setting sun.

It’s the “oh shit,” that has her attention focusing solely on Lexa, quickly closing the distance between the two of them before the sight stops her dead in her tracks.  

 

“Oh god.”

 

The doctor looks up, a well-practiced calm washing over his face that’s infuriating to Clarke. “It’s okay, we can work with this.”

 

Clarke scoffs, her eyes quickly watering over as she dejectedly gestures towards the metal intersecting Lexa’s torso, a choked-off objection whining in her throat. She falls to her knees next to Lexa and holds Lexa’s head close.

 

“Clarke—“ Lexa whispers.

 

“It’s okay. It’s okay.”

 

“I want to say bye to Lexie.”

 

“You can talk to her at the hospital.”

  
“Clarke—“

 

“No!” Clarke scares the both of them with her outcry and she quickly falls into tears, feeling guilty and scared and devastated. “No,” she follows up quietly, “you don’t need to say good bye. You’ll see here soon.”

 

“I’m not gonna make it, Clarke,” Lexa cries, “I’m not.”

 

“No, I don’t accept that.”

 

“I want to say goodbye. Please, Clarke.”

 

//

 

Abby rocks a whimpering Lexie in her lap, finally having torn her away from the doorway. She’s whispering fairytales into her ear when her phone buzzes and she’s shocked to see Clarke’s facetime request. She shifts away from Lexie slightly, just in case, and answers. Clarke’s bright red eyes and dripping cheeks breaks her heart. “Clarke, oh sweetheart, it’s okay.”

 

Clarke shakes her head and struggles to compose herself.  “Is Lexie there?”

 

“She’s here in my lap. How is everything?”

 

Clarke closes her eyes, her head falling back as she chokes back a sob.

 

“Clarke?”

 

“She wants to talk to Lexie.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Lexa. She—she wants to—“ she drops to a whisper, “she wants to say goodbye.”  

 

Abby inhales sharply, tears jumping to her eyes. “Oh sweetheart—”

 

“Can I see her?”

 

Abby nods and adjusts Lexie in her lap. “Mommy’s on the phone.” She turns the screen and Lexie immediately presses in, her whimpers immediately turning into tears.

 

“Mommy?”

 

“Hi baby. Hi, how are you?”

 

“Want you! ‘Mere!”

 

“Oh baby, I wish I could. I’m here, though. Mommy’s right here.”

 

“Momma?”

 

“Momma’s here too. She wants to talk to you. You want to talk to Momma?”

 

Lexie nods and immediately brightens up when Lexa’s flashlight-lit face comes into view. “Momma!”

 

“Hi…baby,” Lexa says between ragged breaths.

 

Abby buries her face into Lexie’s hair and holds her close.

 

“Momma okay?”

 

Lexa smiles, and Clarke is quick to wipe away the red before it can scare their little girl. “Yeah. Momma’s okay…how…are you, baby?”

 

“I scarwed.”

 

“Don’t be scared. It’s okay.”

 

“Momma ‘mere now?”

 

Lexa closes her eyes, collecting, and shakes her head as she opens them again and sniffs away her tears. “I can’t come right now, baby. But…mommy…she’ll be there soon, okay?”

 

“But momma—“

 

“I want you to listen to me—“

 

“No! Momma ‘mere now!” Lexie bursts into tears and begins fighting against Abby’s hold.

 

“Lexa, I need you to list to momma, okay?”

 

Lexie immediately stills, not used to her full name being employed, but used to it enough to know that it means it’s time to be serious.

 

Clarke buries her face in the crook of Lexa’s neck, the sound of her wife using their child’s full name, her name sake, too much to bare.

 

“Lexa, momma loves you,” Lexa begins, holding the phone close. “Momma loves you…so much. I’m so proud of you.”

 

Sensing something is wrong, Lexie whines and fidgets in Abby’s lap, her stubby little fingers tugging on the phone to get her mothers closer. She’s done listening to Lexa, she doesn’t want her words, she wants her embrace. She wants her family back to the way it was. Even in her toddler mind she’d realized a difference in the past few months and resented it. Her momma had just come back to her life weeks previous, their short afternoon excursions while mommy was busy or with her aunts. And now something was telling her, something twisty in her little tummy, that her momma was gonna leave again.

 

“Lexie…Lexa, look at momma, please,” Clarke pleads, “momma’s talking to you.”

 

“No!” Lexie shouts, scared and overwhelmed. Abby holds her close and whispers into her ear long enough to get her to settle.

 

“Lexie,” Lexa murmurs, eyes fluttering, “can you…promise momma something?”

 

Lexie nods and wiggles back into her grandmother’s chest, searching for comfort.

 

“Promise me to never…stop dreaming. Never give up, Lexie. Okay? I want you…to be strong…like mommy. Listen to her, be good for her. Okay? I love you so much, my sweet girl.”

 

“Momma—“

 

“Tell momma you love her, baby,” Clarke says, the camera beginning to tremble in her hand.

 

“I wub you, momma.”

 

“I love you too, Lexa. So much. Remember that always.”

 

“You ‘mere now?”

 

Lexa shakes her head, lips trembling, chest heaving in its attempt to keep her calm. “Mommy will be there soon.”

 

Clarke shifts the phone to her face and gives her the best smile she can manage. “Be good for grandma, Lexie. Go to bed soon and I’l be there when you wake up, okay? I love you, baby.”

 

“Tay mommy,” Lexie whispers, fingers tracing her mother’s outline on the phone. “Nigh nigh.”

 

“Good night, baby.” She turns the phone to Lexa.

 

“Sweet dreams, Lexie. I love you,” Lexa whispers. She closes her eyes when the call ends, her head lulling to Clarke’s shoulder.

 

Clarke holds her close and nuzzles her cheek, forcing herself to be calm and strong for her wife. Despite the hopelessness of the situation, the firemen continue to work as the sun finally sets, their saws grinding away at the metal keeping Lexa to the pole. Anya and Lincoln come and go, but when the sun is finally gone and the work lights come on, Lexa says her goodbyes and asks them to be with her daughter, wanting Lexie to have the support, and in her mind, not wanting to die in front of them.

 

When they’re alone again, Clarke kisses Lexa’s fingers, caresses the silver band around her ring finger. She tuts at the shattered watch on her wrist but promises quietly to replace it, knowing it’s Lexa’s favorite.

 

“Are you still cold?” She asks quietly, moving her hands to Lexa’s face, tracing over Lexa’s brows, cheekbones, swiping across her bottom lip—committing every detail to memory.  

 

Lexa barely shakes her head. “Numb,” she mumbles.

 

Clarke tries to ignore the way the doctor and paramedic exchange a loaded look. “Hey,” she whispers, wanting Lexa’s eyes. They flutter, exhausted, but eventually open. Clarke smiles and kisses her briefly. “God you’re beautiful. Do you know that?” Clarke brushes her hair back. “You’re so beautiful, Lex.”

 

“Potato face,” is all Lexa murmurs, a tiny, wry smile flitting across her lips.

 

Clarke laughs wetly and nods, remembering that day in high school when she’d called Lexa the meanest thing she could muster towards the beautiful, brooding girl (that she wasn’t actually mad at) after Lexa had run smack into her in the hallway. “My beautiful potato face,” she chuckles.

 

Lexa smiles and moves her finger enough to run the back of it across Clarke’s wet cheeks. “Don’t cry for me,” she whispers.

 

Clarke scoffs and buries back down, not wanting to see anymore. Of course she’d cry for her. She’d never _stop_ crying for her.

 

“Don’t let this stop you…from living…your life.”

 

“I don’t have a life without you in it.”

 

“You have Lexie.”

 

“You gave me Lexie.”

 

Lexa kisses her on the head. “So you’ll have her…to remember me…by.”

 

“I don’t want to have to remember you. I want you here.”

 

Lexa chuckles. “Just a second ago…you were ready…to divorce me.”

 

Clarke’s stomach flips violently and she shakes her head, eyes wide and wet. “Don’t joke about that, Lexa. Please. God, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. You have to believe me when I say that I never wanted and I never will want a divorce. I want to grow old with you. I want to watch our daughter grow up and date and—“

 

“No dating.”

 

Clarke smiles. “Okay, no dating.”

 

“Until she’s thirty.”

 

“You’ll have to be the one to tell her.”

 

“Clarke—“

 

“Hush. You tell her. You have to tell her. You have to be there, Lexa. You’re her hero, you know that? She talked about you every day we were apart. She needs you in her life.”

 

Lexa whimpers. There’s nothing she wants more than to be there for her daughter. She wants to see her grow up, date, go to college, get married. All of the things she’d dreamt about the day Clarke told her she was pregnant. But she knows her body. She knows what those looks from the doctor and paramedic mean. She knows that things are not looking good for her, and there’s nothing she can do about it.

 

“Shh, I’m sorry,” Clarke soothes, “I’m sorry. It’s alright, it’s gonna be alright.”

 

Lexa inhales sharply, something painful happening in her torso. “Lexie’s gonna…be okay right?”

 

Clarke nods and kisses her temple. “She’ll be okay.”

 

Lexa turns her head so that they’re pressed together again. “I want…you…to love again. Don’t be alone, okay?”

 

The idea is laughable, but not in the mood to laugh, Clarke shakes her head and kisses her. “I’ll never want anyone else, Lex. I want _you_. You’re it for me.”

 

“I don’t want you to be sad after—“

 

“I don’t want to talk about the after anymore, okay? We’re not there yet. Don’t you dare give up on me.”

 

“I’m not,” Lexa whispers, barely audibly. “But can I…close my eyes?”

 

“I’d rather you didn’t. Just a little longer.” Clarke turns to the doctor, eye pleading. “Just a little longer, right?”

 

“We’re actually ready to move her.”

 

//

 

Moving her is a mistake. A grave, unavoidable mistake—a fatal necessity, a taunting oxymoron. Leave her there, and her body will shut down. Move her, and bad things will happen.

 

The doctor and paramedic struggle to stop the bleeding that pushes out of Lexa around the metal stake like water does around a crack in a damn.

 

The pressure makes Lexa’s belly bloat, and with the smell, it’s enough to rip the stomach acid from Clarke’s empty stomach and leave her dry heaving on the ground. A spare paramedic puts their hand on her back and holds her hair, but there’s nothing to avoid. She hasn’t eaten in hours, and more to the point, it’s the stress of it all that has her gasping.

 

It lasts all of a couple of seconds, but somewhere within those moments, Lexa had closed her eyes, and somewhere further along, she’d gone unconscious and then unresponsive, and then sickly pale—the fear inside of Clarke is vicious, shutting down her faculties one by one until she can barely move, let alone climb into the ambulance after her wife.

 

She struggles at the back of the bus, but then someone boosts her up and pushes her into the seat next to the stretcher. After that, all eyes, all thoughts, all actions, and all focus, is on Lexa.

 

//

 

The first thing Clarke does after the double doors to the trauma rooms close in her face, is stare. Unseeing, she stares after the stretcher, still trying to catch up in a moment that’s already gone. Still trying to process how anyone could have _so much_ blood to lose. Still trying to last words meaningful enough to bestow.

 

“Hey there, hon” someone to her left says, but she doesn’t have the energy to look. “Why don’t we get you cleaned up?”

 

Still, she doesn’t move—too tired, too angry, too confused, distraught and undone.

 

“Ma’am,” the stranger prods, placing an arm on Clarke’s back.

 

“Please don’t touch me,” is all Clarke manages, nothing but a whisper with her eyes still glued to the doors.

 

“Ma’am, you’re scaring the others.”

 

With great effort, Clarke blinks. With even greater effort she turns and looks at the grey-haired nurse with wide eyes and sweet smile. “Oh. I’m sorry,” she murmurs, half a question, half a sentiment.

 

“Come on, lets get you cleaned up.”

 

Clarke puzzles, then looks down at herself realizing what it is exactly that’s scaring the other people in the waiting room. She runs a hand over the large stain of drying blood on her shirt. Lexa’s blood. The same blood covering her hands, and she suspects (because of the nagging itch) her neck and face.

 

//

 

The second thing Clarke does, is cry into the warm, wet washcloth the nurse has given her. Her throat burns with the day’s long exertion and the remnant sting of stomach acid, but still she cries. Big, ugly, angry sobs.

 

Sniffling all the while, she scrubs at the blood on her hand then peels out of her shirt and stares at herself in the mirror. She sits there like that for a while, in nothing but her jeans and white bra, chest having, nose running.

 

She doesn’t know how long she sits there, but at some point she picks up the wash cloth again and goes away at her face and neck and stomach. She scrubs herself pink, tears renewing at times, ebbing at others. Her skin stings by the time there’s a light knock on the door and it opens to reaveal her mother, looking scared and sad and relieved.

 

“Oh, Clarke. Sweetheart.” 

 

Clarke doesn’t say anything. Can’t. Just whimpers and allows her mother to take up the washing, her strokes much softer, much gentler across her stained skin.

 

When Abby’s done, and there’s still nothing to say, Clarke lets herself be held. She lets the soft, whispered words lull her into some kind of distracted trance. She lets herself be dressed into the spare scrubs, lets herself be led down the hall, all the while, feeling nothing.

 

She doesn’t let herself feel until she’s guided into a dark room and helped into the bed where her daughter lies, blankie held tight, thumb in her mouth. With silent tears, she curls around Lexie and pulls her to her chest, noticing and aching at the way her brown hair splayed all over the pillow is so much like her mother’s.

 

Careful not to wake her up, Clarke presses kiss after kiss onto her warm, little head, whispering apologies for keeping she and Lexa apart for so long. She can hear her little girl’s pained, confused questions in her head, even now, on repeat as her own special hell. “Never again,” she promises, and in the same breaths, begs whoever might be listening, to give her a second chance.

 

//

 

“Clarke. Baby, wake up.”

 

Clarke is quick to wake, but slow to rise. Her body aches with a heaviness that comes from too much. To much pain. Too much emotion. Too much sleep deprivation. Too much trauma. Her body is exhausted, but her mind is on hyper drive, and so she opens her eyes immediately, blinks, and sees her mother.

 

The reality of the previous night slams into her at the sight of her mother’s concerned, sympathetic eyes, and she jerks upwards, though still she manages not to jostle her daughter with a finesse only a mother is capable of.

 

“Lexa?”

 

“She’s still in surgery, but she’s stable.”

 

Clarke allows herself only a fleeting moment of relief. “How long’s it been?”

 

“They’re going into their ninth hour now.”

 

Clarke balks. “ _Nine_ hours?”

 

“There’s a lot to repair, sweetheart. It’s a wonder she’s alive.” Abby smiles and smooths her hand over Clarke’s hair. “You hanging in there?”

 

Clarke nods, though she certainly doesn’t feel it. Hanging as in suffocating on every breath perhaps. But coping? Doing okay? There is none of that going on. Not on the inside. On the outside, she gives her mother a small smile and a whispered “yeah,” for emphasis.  

 

“Have you talked to Lexie yet?”

 

Clarke turns back to her daughter, runs her hand over Lexie’s hair just as Abby had done to her. A natural, soothing instinct. “No,” she murmurs, eyes glassy and awed by the sweet, peaceful innocence of her baby’s sleeping face. “She woke once in the middle of the night with nightmares, but I got her back down and she hasn’t been up since.”

 

Abby quietly pulls a chair up to the bedside and sits. She pours Clarke a glass of water, watches her not drink it, but takes comfort in the option at least. “How has she been handling the past couple of months?”

 

It’s a reminder she doesn’t need. An unintentional taunt that leaves her embarrassed, ashamed and panicked. She’d asked for a divorce. Kicked her wife of ten years out of their home. Out of their daughter’s life. All on the basis of a blurry paparazzi photo and the word of her, arguably most untrustworthy, mutuals.

 

The most upsetting part is that she’d known. Deep down she’d known that Lexa would never do that to her. To their family. But that’d been the problem, hadn’t it? Lexa, in all of her glory, had always been the good one. The sweet one. The respectful one. The loving, understanding, perfect one. And Clarke had been feeling an itch for months. Maybe even years. Perhaps it’d started with Lexie’s conception—this notion that doom was impending. That one day, soon, they’d hit that inevitable, unsurmountable obstacle. Inevitable because Lexa had always been the perfect one, and Clarke the one trying to keep up. Sooner or later, Lexa would realize. Would see her for what she is and, utterly horrified, leave.

 

“I seriously messed up,” she whispers. Not so much to Abby, but more to her thoughts.

 

“How much did she understand?”

 

Clarke blinks, realizing that Abby is still agonizingly on Lexie. It’s annoying and upsetting, and so she snaps. “I mean, she’s three, mom. What do you think?”

 

Abby reclines, used to her daughter’s hot head, and unphased. Particularly given the circumstances.

 

“I’m sorry,” Clarke says on her own volition, sighing and running her hands over her face. “It’s just been a mess. And I could have prevented it all—“

 

“Honey, that’s not true.”

 

“No, it is. I could have let them start visiting sooner. What kind of mother lets her daughter suffer like that?”

 

“I’m sure she understoond, baby.”

 

“Yeah, no that’s the problem,” Clarke snaps, again. “She understood too much and not enough. She understood Lexa’s absence. Could feel it and asked about it all the time. And she understood that I was different. She could feel my pain and anger. But she couldn’t possibly understand why, of course, and that made it worse. It’s not like I could sit my three year old down and explain everything, but I could tell that she was aware that something was up. Her behavior was all over the place. Up and down, temper tantrums galore. She refused to eat for a week until I started bribing her.”   

 

Abby pushes back in, her hand instinctively reaching out to soothe. This time it finds purchase at Clarke’s lower back. “Well, a part of that could also be that she’s simply a toddler and bound to act out right now.”

 

“No,” Clarke says quietly. She shakes her head and looks at Lexie once again. “I know my little girl. She was hurting and reacting. And the irony of it all is that Lexa was always the one who best understood her to begin with.”

 

“At least she’s young. She’ll bounce back.”

 

“Not if—“ Clarke’ voice cracks and she whimpers at the thought…not if Lexa doesn’t make it. “What if she dies, mom? What if I lose her after everything? What if the last moments I have with her are all fights?”

 

“You have fifteen years of moments, Sweetheart. Focus on the good ones.”

 

She wishes her mother had told her that there’s no way Lexa will die. That her concerns are pointless because Lexa is going to make it through and wake up and give her another fifty years of moments. But Abby is a surgeon. _The_ surgeon. And not nearly dumb or optimistic enough to spin such a silver lining. It shoves Clarke into resignation like a square peg into a round hole.

 

“How did you do it?”

 

“Do what?”

 

“How’d you keep going after Dad?”

 

Abby smiles sadly and nods towards Lexie. “The same way you will if it comes to it.”

 

//

 

Clarke never really understood the power of friendship and all its hype throughout her life. She met Lexa young, a freshman in high school, and she became her entire universe soon after. It was she and Lexa against the world, and that’s all that ever really mattered to her.

 

Of course there was Octavia and Bellamy, closest to her after Lexa, but they had each other and were in and out of her life as time went on. Anya and Lincoln were family, but arguably Lexa’s. Nylah and Echo had been around for so long that at some point she’d started calling them friends too, though they’d always been trouble. Raven came into her life in college, and she loved the girl, but she’d always be a little tainted in Clarke’s mind as the girl she bonded with because they’d both known a certain Finn Collins in their early life.

 

Up until this point, friends had always been sort of an aside to her life. Her love for Lexa was all consuming. When Lexie came along, several years later, her heart was full in the best of ways. Too early had Clarke felt the irreparable sting of a devastated family. Too early had she experienced the excruciating pain of losing a family member. Thus, when her own came along, she devoted herself to it singularly and completely; friends had been a happy bonus, when there was time.

 

But now, with Bellamy bouncing a giggling Lexie on his lap, huge smile on his face working magic to keep her calm, and Raven absentmindedly, distractingly, rambling about one of her projects going explosively awry, and Octavia casually holding her hand while whispering to Lincoln, and Anya shooting her intermittent smiles from across the room as she chats with Abby—

Clarke has never been more sure of one thing in her life: while her wife and daughter are her universe, her friends are her world, and she loves them all desperately.

 

//

 

“She’s awake now.”

 

Three words have never stunted her so proficiently before. “I love you,” had come close. Lexa’s soft, timid proclamation that night in her truck bed under the start. “Be my wife,” five years later had come even closer. “Lexa is hurt,” Anya’s shaky, terrified voice, from just the week before had come the closes.

 

But nothing had so thoroughly short circuited her system before as those three words from her mother, almost whispered as if any louder might undo it.

 

“I can see her?” Clarke gulps, a hand going to her daughter’s hair, somehow softer and silkier in sleep.

 

“If you’d like.”

 

Clarke nods, tears already beginning to coat her eyes as she follows her mother down the hall and into Lexa’s room. The first thing she notices is the equipment. Too much of it. Everywhere. All over her wife. It’s clinical and mechanic and terrifying.

 

The second thing she notices is the soft, soft skin of Lexa’s arm—the one not wrapped in a heavy, white cast. It’s pale and and marred by angry, red lines, but it’s so unmistakably Lexa’s arm, it comforts her in the strangest of ways.

 

The third thing she notices is the hair, just like her daughters, splayed over the pillow, and it makes her chuckle oddly and uncomfortably—relieved and terrified all at once. She’s slow approaching the side of the bed, mind over concerned with every little thing that might make this unreal. A wrong step, or a blink—something that rips her out of the dreams and slams her right back down into that moment in front of the double doors, her torso covered in Lexa’s blood, sure that she’d neve see her wife again.

 

Her mother pulls up a chair for her by the bed and it’s the legs scraping against the floor that has Lexa’s eyes fluttering open—heavy and grey and dull. But so, so beautiful.

 

“Clarke.”

 

She doesn’t mean to let it affect her so much, but the sound of Lexa’s voice of course draws the sobs out of her violently and unexpectedly.

 

“Shh,” Lexa soothes, slurred and tired and thick with sedative. “Its’okay”

“I’m sorry,” Clarke gasps, “oh my god. Oh my god, hi. Hi baby,” she chuckles through her tears, shaking her head and cradling Lexa’s face in her hands. “Hi.”

 

Lexa smiles. “Hi, Clarke.”

 

Chuckling and crying and still shaking her head, Clarke kisses her, once, twice. She loses count. “I love you,” she whispers. Then louder, “I love you so fucking much, Lexa.”

 

“Love you too,” Lexa slurs with a dopey smile on her face.

 

Clarke places her head on Lexa’s chest, gently, and spends several seconds just listening. Convincing herself with physical, pulsing evidence.

 

“Mommy?”

 

Clarke smiles at the uptake of Lexa’s heart beat at the sound of their daughter’s sleepy, concerned voice. “You have a visitor,” she tells Lexa whose turn it is with the wet, shiny eyes.

 

She lifts her daughter up and sets her carefully on the side of the bed. She tells her to be gently, tells her not to touch momma’s tummy, and then let’s her go, free to wrap herself around Lexa’s neck and squeal in delight.

 

She steps back, watching on with a trembling lip rivaled only by her wife’s and her mother’s as the two Lexa’s reunite with excited whispers and fluttery kisses.

 

“Everything’s going to be okay now, Clarke,” her mom assures, rubbing her back. Clarke just nods and wipes at her cheek with her shoulder.

 

“Mommy?”

  
Clarke gravitates back, one hand going to her daughter, the other to her wife. “Hmm?”

 

“Momma can come home wif us?”

 

She smiles, shares a look with Lexa—long and loving and full of apologies and ‘I love you’s—before she bends and kisses Lexie on the head. “Yes baby, momma’s coming home with us.”

 

“Forever?”

 

This time, Clarke kisses her wife. “Forever,” she promises.


	38. I Do Until I Don't Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You asked for a sequel to Ch. 37: "I Do Until I Don't." Ask and you shall receive. 
> 
> Take it easy on the critique. I love your comments, but I am only human (with surprisingly thin skin for someone who works in show biz). 
> 
> My reasons for Clarke's exaggerated response to the tabloid picture were always clear in my mind, but I didn't not have the time or energy to lay it all out the first go round. I hope this sequel makes it a little more clear. The important thing that I hope you grasp is this: they're both flawed. They both made poor decisions and they both owe each other an apology. They also both love each other fiercely and understand their mistakes. Most importantly, they are willing to work on them together. Couples are perfect, they're messy, but that's part of the beauty. 
> 
> If you want MORE, let me know and I'll THINK about it. 
> 
> Ps- this hasn't been edited, my bad. Just don't have time right this second. 
> 
> KISSES ;p

Lexa is distant, everyone can feel it. As soon as the pain meds are down to twice a day, and she’s eating regularly, the elation of simply being alive and having her family back begins to fade away.

 

Clarke is doting and gentle and so very lovely, but Lexa is resentful and angry and so very hurt. But perhaps worst of all is that she’s guilty, because she knows why this happened. Can trace it back to a very moment in time that she, herself, indirectly and maybe directly caused it. Because Clarke of three years ago would have never entertained the idea of Lexa cheating. Because Clarke of three years ago did not have an infant to raise by herself while Lexa ran off to Paris for several months to start up her company’s Europe branch.

 

Clarke of three years ago did not give up her residency at MOMA to raise their child while Lexa was off gallivanting through the city of light with admittedly, shiny, beautiful people.

 

Clarke of three years ago was not struggling through insecurities exacerbated by post partem depression without the help and support of her significant other.

 

Simply put, three years ago, Clarke was not struggling and questioning herself at every turn. Clarke wasn’t questioning Lexa’s commitment or her love for her. They’d been happy, of course they had, but Clarke had been noticeably struggling and maybe Lexa hadn’t done anything about it. Maybe she’d been too tired or too wrapped up in her own goals and aspirations to realize what Clarke had given up for her. For her family. Maybe the divorce request was an over reaction, but maybe Lexa had to shoulder some of that blame too.

 

And that just makes everything worse because of course she can’t just blame Clarke. And of course Clarke can’t just blame her, though that’s what she’d done. And yes, Clarke had been struggling, and yes, maybe Lexa had conveniently managed to miss that at the time. But Lexa had been struggling too. Lexa, who is constantly in the limelight, Lexa who is constantly fighting off saboteurs and money mongrels, Lexa who still sometimes lays awake at night aching for her parents. Lexa who had no idea what it meant to be a parent, and even less what it meant to be a parent to a child who looks at you like you’re their entire world, despite having not been around for their early months. Lexa had had her own struggles.

 

The only problem is, Lexa of three years ago, never would have let them overshadow Clarke’s.

 

The painful truth of the matter is that Lexa left Clarke first. Long before any of this nonsense about divorce papers. Lexa had left Clarke when she needed her the most. Lexa knows this now. Being bed ridden lends itself well to reflection. But that doesn’t make it any better. Any easier. It makes it harder, because Clarke is no longer the bad guy. But Clarke is not off the hook either. If only she had _talked_ to Lexa during those years. But that’s how Clarke is.  Clarke, her selfless, resilient, beautiful Clarke, had let her go off to Paris. Without complaint, without retribution. She’d let Lexa walk away and take her alone time when Clarke had needed the support the most. She’d let Lexa play the young, bachelor she never got to, and instead of talking about it, instead of demanding fairness, she’d bottled it away and let it simmer. And boy had Lexa paid for it, all at once, in full, no mercy.

 

There’s a timid knock at the door and an even more timid “Lex?”

 

Lexa closes her eyes and shoves the anger and resentment and guilt down as deep as she can get it as Clarke opens the door. Lexa forces a smile on her face and tries not to note how the guilt had been hardest to shove away.

 

“Are you hungry?”

 

With a grimace, Lexa pushes herself up to sitting and gestures her wife away from the door. “You can come in, love.”

 

Clarke chews on her lip in trepidation, and even with the anger and resentment and guilt, Lexa thinks she’s the most beautiful creature on earth. And in that moment, for the first time in several days, she craves Clarke’s touch.

 

But Clarke doesn’t move. “I was thinking chicken and rice soup since the oxycodone has been making you nauseous. Think you can keep that down?”

 

“What’re you making for Lexie?”

 

“She wants mac n’ cheese. I’m gonna try to disguise some broccoli and rice in there too. She’s not eating her vegetables again.”

 

Lexa smiles and is pleased to see the hint of a smile on her wife’s face as well. “How about just some broccoli and rice for me? That way you don’t have to make more than one thing.”

 

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Clarke offers a bit too cheerily. A bit too enthusiastically. But that’s how this had gone. Clarke overcompensating and Lexa struggling to navigate it.

 

“You’re doing so much for us, Clarke. Take it easy. The broccoli and rice is fine.”

 

Clarke looks down, and gives a minute shake of her head.

 

“Clarke—“

 

“I’m hardly doing anything, Lex,” she whispers. “It’s the least I can do after what I’ve done.”

 

Lexa signs and wishes she were strong enough to get out of the bed and cross to her wife.

 

“Clarke, come here, please. Or at least look at me.”

 

Clarke does the latter and Lexa counts it as a small victory. “The broccoli and rice is fine.” She gives her a genuine smile.

 

Clarke instinctively takes a step forward and Lexa holds her breath in anticipation, silently urging her wife to continue forward.

 

“I’m worried the broccoli will be too hard on your system. I’m not sure you’ll keep it down.”

 

To her dismay, Clarke doesn’t continue forward and remains locked in the doorway, so Lexa heavy hands it. “Come sit with me, Clarke.”

 

Clarke’s eyes go imperceptibly wider and she backtracks, one foot already out the door. “I…I’ve got the stove on. I’ll just make the soup.—“

 

“Clarke, wait—“

 

 I’ll be back—“

 

“Clarke—“

 

“Text me if you need something, okay?” And then she’s gone and Lexa is woozy from the exertion, so she let’s her go and tries not to let her mind run away with the complicated mix of emotions hurting her head and heart.

 

//

 

While her feelings surrounding Clarke and the past several months are confusing and complex, her feelings towards Clarke’s friends are crystal clear and full of malice.

 

“She just wants to visit to see how you are,” Clarke explains as she keeps a close eye on Lexie running around the room.

 

“I don’t care,” Lexa snaps. “I’m not interested in a visit from her.”

 

“Lex—“

 

“She threatened me, Clarke. She came into _my_ space, at _my_ work and threatened me.”

 

Clarke stills, brown furrowed in confusion. “What?”

 

“Like a week after you kicked me out,” and Lexa doesn’t miss the way the words make Clarke’s face fall, as they always do. “She showed up outside my building and told me she’d end me for hurting you. Raven was my friend too and she just…just like that…was ready to throw me to the wolves. I’ve known all of them just as long as you have and yet not _one_ of them bothered to ask me how _I_ was doing. _I’m_ the one who got kicked out. _I’m_ the one who lost their child for months. And yet still, somehow, _I_ ended up the evil bad guy.”

 

“Momma not ebil,” Lexi pipes up from the floor surrounded by her stuffed animals. She holds up her lion to Clarke, proud, and Clarke offers her a smile and a nod. She turns back to Lexa. “We should talk about this later.”

 

//

 

When Lexie is down for her nap, and Clarke has lunch for Lexa, she brings it up again, quietly and with tears in her eyes.

 

“I didn’t know Raven did that. I’m so sorry.”

 

Lexa chews on her teeth and knows she’s glaring, but she can’t help it. She’d been abandoned. By _everyone._ “You really think your friends would do anything less? They’ve been skeptical of me since day one.”

 

Clarke nods, her eyes downcast in shame. It’s her shaking hand, as it goes to chop up Lexa’s food into bite-sized pieces, that finally pushes the anger out of Lexa. “Hey,” she murmurs, her friendliest tone yet. But Clarke doesn’t look up. She shakes her head and whimpers, but before anything more can happen, she’s gone in a blur. Lexa calls after her, but Clarke is long gone.

 

She thinks that’s the end of it until she’s woken up about a half hour later by yelling out in the hallway.

 

“No, I don’t _care,_ Raven! No…no, listen to me. Raven, _listen_ to me!”

 

Lexa shifts herself up into sitting so that she can pay better attention, and glances over at the sleeping bundle on the floor to make sure her daughter is still fast asleep after having waddled in at some point and tired herself out with her toys.

 

“That’s not an excuse! No—Raven—Ra—shut up and fucking listen to me for one second, holy shit!”

 

Lexa glances nervously back over at Lexie, but the toddler is fast asleep, her head perched awkwardly on one of her stuffed animals.

 

“You don’t _ever_ threaten my wife! Do you hear me? ‘End her?’ Really, what the fuck were you going for? Al Pacino?”

 

There’s a beat.

 

“I don’t care. I don’t care, Raven. She could fucking rob a bank, you don’t get to punish her for it. She’s _my_ wife, _my_ family. You have to let _me_ handle it.”

 

A longer beat.

 

“Well yeah of course I didn’t have a problem with it before, I didn’t _know…_ ……No, Raven, I don’t care if it was Bellamy’s idea. Believe me, I’ll talk to him too……… Yes, I already spoke with Octavia.”

 

Lexa wonders how long she’d actually been asleep. She looks over at her plate, sees that it’s mostly full. She must’ve passed out minutes after Clarke bringing it to her.

 

“If I’d known you guys were doing that to her, I would have put a stop to it immediately. We don’t get to do that to her.  We don’t get to gang up on her when she has no one else, Raven. We’ve had this discussion before. If you’re going to be my friends, you’re going to be her friends too, and you’re going to fucking protect her because she’s _all alone,_ you guys, seriously! I lost my fucking mind for a moment, but you guys had no reason to lose yours too………yes I know I’m your friend………yeah, I know. I know, Raven. But listen. Listen to me. No—Rae, seriously, shut up. Listen. You. Are. _Her._ Friend. Too. That should have count for something.”

 

The beat is long enough this time that Lexa almost wonders if Raven has hung up. But then Clarke’s voice is back, much softer this time.

 

“I know you thought she cheated. I _know………_ You could have asked her first………well, what’d she say?.........She said she didn’t and you still lashed out at her? Great. That’s great, Rae………Look, I’m sure I instigated some of this. I wasn’t exactly fair in immediately leaping to divorce but that was _my_ mistake to make and bear.  You didn’t have to go and add to it. I feel bad enough as it is having acted like a total shit bag, and then I have to find out that you guys went behind my back and made her feel worse?! Honestly, Raven, I’m so mad at you all I could fucking scream………Yes, I know I’m already screaming. It’s a figure of speech.”

 

Lexa bites back a grin, feeling oddly satisfied and vindicated by Clarke’s immediate actions against her friends.

 

“No, I don’t think she’s ready to talk to you. You can apologize later after I’ve spoken with her about seeing you guys………I will………Oh, fuck no, don’t even get me started about Nylah and Echo. They can go to hell, Raven…Yeah, you tell them that. And tell them that if I ever see their faces again I will fuck them up in so many ways—yeah, no yeah, I’m serious, you can tell them that. And tell them to get a lawyer because I’m suing………What do you mean what for? For emotional distress or whatever the fuck it’s called. I’m married to a lawyer I’ll figure it out I’m sure…yes, she’s a lawyer too. No, that was her other grad degree………No, after engineering and business—look! I’m not discussing Lexa’s degrees with you, that’s not the point. The point is, you need to come up with some seriously good apology _and_ you need to make sure I never see those fucking cunts again if you’re still associating with them.  I need to go check on my wife now, I’m gonna go………yeah, okay. Okay, Raven. It’s fine, well it’s not fine. We’re not fine. But we can work on it……..Yeah. Yeah, I’ll tell her. Okay. Okay, bye.”

 

There’s a long moment of silence, and Lexa strains to hear. She hopes she’ll hear footsteps and the door opening, but she gets nothing. Instead she she hears Clarke’s voice once again.

 

“Hey. Bellamy. We need to talk.”

 

//

 

The first day that Lexa walks it’s more of a desperate, panicked stumble and series of falls as she tries to reach the terrified screams and wails of her daughter.

 

She grips onto the kitchen island for dear life as she rounds the corner, ignoring the immense pain in her stomach which only grows worse when she sees why Lexie is sobbing.

 

Hunched on the floor sits her wife, rocking and whimpering as she stares at her bloody hands.

 

“Clarke!” Lexa gasps and pushes herself forward, falling to her knees and immediately tending to her daughter. “Lexie. Lexie, look at momma. Look at momma.”

 

Lexie turns to her with wide, wet eyes and flings herself onto Lexa, eliciting a cough and groan from her mother whose eyes clench shut at the pain. She does her best to run her hand along Lexie’s back until the girl calms, but she knows she’s not helping anything with her panicked breathing and shaky hand. “You’re okay, Sweetgirl. You’re okay.” She looks over Lexie’s shoulder at her wife, but Clarke’s eyes are stuck unseeing on her bloody hands. “Lexie—“ Lexa pulls her daughter back and looks her firm in the eyes. “Can you go sit on the couch and wait for me?”

 

Lexie nods and waddles away as Lexa asks her SmartHouse to put on Thomas the Choo Choo Train for her.

 

“Clarke, hey. Look at me.” Lexa takes Clarke’s hands in hers, and looks them over, quickly spotting the large gash in the heel of her palm that’s causing all of the blood. “Clarke!” She snaps, and her wife finally jerks up, meeting her eyes. “Hey there,” she says, lowering her tone back down. “What’s going on?”

 

Clarke stares at Lexa like she’s in disbelief. She touches her faces, runs it along Lexa’s jaw hesitantly. “You’re here…”

 

Lexa nods and gives her a concerned smile. “I’m here.”

 

Clarkes hand drops to hover over her stomach. “But you died.” Clarke whimpers. “You died.”

 

“No, Clarke. I’m okay. I’m alive.”

 

“But I saw you. I saw you and you died. You died before I could tell you I’m sorry.” Clarke’s eyes are still glued, wide and catatonic at Lexa’s stomach, her hand trembling in the air over the bulk of Lexa’s stitches. “I…I hurt you. I hurt you so bad and I wasn’t even right and you…you _died._ ”

 

“Oh, Clarke.” Lexa drops down to sit, her legs curling underneath her as she lets herself fall back against the other side of the kitchen island. The pain is radiating through her, making it hard to do much of anything, but Clarke is still scaring her with her mind and eyes locked in another world, another timeline, and so she stays. “I’m okay Clarke.”

                               

“I never said I’m sorry,” Clarke whispers.

 

Lexa furrows and shakes her head. “No, you did. You did, Clarke.”

 

“I never said I’m sorry and you died. And, and, and I just….you _died.”_ She finally looks up at Lexa, but it’s not her wife she’s looking at. She’s far too pale, her eyes far too red and wet. “And I hurt you.”

 

Lexa swallows hard and shakes her head, reaching out to squeeze Clarke’s thigh. “I’m right here, Clarke.”

 

“Did I tell you I love you?”

 

Lexa swallows hard, and nods. “Several times.”

 

“Did you believe me?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Were you mad at me?”

 

“I—well…when?”

 

 “When you died.”

 

Lexa’s concern increases and she shifts, looking around for Clarke’s phone. When she finds it on the counter above her, quite sure she’s pulled a few stitches reaching up to grab it, she shoots a text to Abby then returns to her wife. “Clarke, look at me. Feel me.” She takes Clarke hands, wipes them clean as best she can, and places them on her cheeks. “Feel me, Clarke. I’m alive.”

 

“But—“

 

“No.” Lexa shakes her head, not letting Clarke finish. “I’m alive, Clarke.” She shifts a hand down to her chest and allows Clarke to feel her heartbeat.

 

Reality dawns slowly on her wife, like a sunrise overcoming a mountain. Clarke’s face regains color, she stops crying, her breathing becomes less erratic. After several minutes, Clarke is aware enough again to startle at her hands and her surroundings. She immediately crawls over to Lexa who is doing everything she can to stay awake and whisper to Clarke as her wife slowly overcame whatever attack she’d just gone through.

 

“Lexa…shit, Lexa, hey. Are you okay?” She presses her hand to Lexa’s bleeding stitches and runs her other hand over Lexa’s forehead. “What happened? What happened?” She looks at her hands, her eyes rapidly sweeping over Lexa to find more blood because her stitches aren’t leaking enough to leave that much on her hands.

 

Lexa rouses herself and sighs in relief at the return of her wife, capturing her frantic movements with her hands on her cheeks. “Clarke. Hey. Are you okay?”

 

“What happened? Why are you out of bed?”

 

“I…you…you don’t remember?”

 

Clarke shakes her head and begins to panic again, but Lexa’s holds her firm in her hands. “Hey, shh. It’s fine. You’re fine.”

 

“Where’s Lexie?”

 

“In the living room.”

 

Clarke’s eyes return to Lexa’s stomach. “What happened? You’re bleeding—“

 

“I’m okay. Just pulled some stitches. You had a panic attack, love. A bad one. You don’t remember?”

 

Tears leap to Clarke’s eyes and she shakes her head, confused and lost and scared. “I was making dinner…”

 

“You cut yourself.” Lexa takes Clarke’s hands and pinches the skin on Clarke’s palm closed. “We need to fix this.”

 

“I—I can do it. You, shit. You need to get back in bed. God, I can’t believe this.” Clarke begins crying again, and Lexa feels overwhelmed and confused. “I can’t believe I hurt you again. I keep hurting you!” Clarke sobs and repels away from Lexa, head shaking.

 

“No, Clarke, it’s okay. It’s okay, this isn’t your fault.”

 

“It is. It is, it’s always my fault. Oh my god, I fucked up, Lexa. I fucked up.”

 

Before Lexa can answer, the elevator to their suite dings and Abby rushes in, calling their names.

 

“In the kitchen,” Lexa calls, winching.

 

Abby comes in and freezes when she sees the two of them on the floor, both bloody and teary-eyed. “What _happened?”_

 

“Just help her off the floor, please,” Clarke begs, scrambling upwards. “I have to go.”

 

“No, Clarke—just, Clarke! Listen to me. Stay right here, baby,” Abby pleads as she bends to help Lexa off the floor. “I’m gonna get Lexa in bed, stay right here.”

 

//

 

“We call it DPD,” Abby explains to Lexa once Clarke is asleep in their bed and Lexie is tucked safely away in her own for nap time. “Depersonalization Disorder. It causes her to lose touch with reality, sometimes experience alternate realities. It’s most common in tandem with panic attacks which, as you know, Clarke’s had since she was a little girl.”

 

“I don’t…I don’t understand, though. Her panic attacks have never been like that. Why now?”

 

Abby checks the pressure on Lexa’s stitches and sighs. “This isn’t new. She had some trouble with this after her father’s death. It went away with time and medication, but she struggles every now and again.”

 

“I…I never knew.”

 

“She doesn’t like to talk about it, and since she’s known you, it’s been under control.” Abby pulls Lexa’s shirt back down and moves to sit in the armchair next ot the bed. “The problem is, Clarke is extremely empathetic. She feels everything very deeply. Too deeply, often times. I think that’s part of the reason she reacted the way she did with the tabloid photo. I love my daughter dearly, but she’s been through a lot, from an early age, and it’s made her quick to anger and aggression. She does not handle trauma well, and given everything that’s happened, I’m not surprised she slipped.”

 

Lexa swallows, scared and disconcerted knowing that her wife had been struggling with this as long as she’d known her and she never knew. She’d always chalked it up to Clarke’s anxiety and her passionate personality.  “How can I help her?”

 

“Well, first of all, she needs to get more sleep. She can’t keep calling me at 3, 4 in the morning, it’s not healthy for her. If you happen to see her awake, try to get her back to sleep.”

 

Lexa is stunned. She shakes her head speechless and Abby sighs. “You didn’t know.”

 

A rock of guilt settles in her stomach. “We’re not…we’re sleeping together. She sleeps upstairs in our room.”

 

“Is that to protect you from injury or because you two are still having trouble?”

 

“She tried to divorce me, Abby,” Lexa snaps, feeling defesnsive, then immediately apologizes. “I’m sorry. Things have just been…weird.”

 

“I understand that. I do. And I know that you’re angry, believe me. But I can guarantee that Clarke is angrier with herself than you will ever be. My daughter made a mistake. A huge, gaping mistake, and I have had many a talks with her about it, but she has thoroughly punished herself for it, Lexa. And it’s time you two start trying to move forward. She’s killing herself. The nightmares alone…” Abby shakes her head.

 

“I didn’t know she was having nightmares,” Lexa murmurs, concerned and ashamed.  

 

“Clarke is very visual. It’s what makes her such a wonderful artist. But because of that she is easily triggered and tends to relive moments over and over again until she’s made herself ill.”

 

Lexa hears Clarke’s words from ages ago echo through her mind. _“I just keep seeing you kiss her. Touch her. Inside of her. I can’t stop seeing it and it makes me sick.”_

“She’s exiled all of her friends, and I…well, I’ve been slammed at the hospital. I’m doing what I can, but it’s not a single-person job. She’s feeling very alone and very ashamed. She’s drowning herself in guilt and for her, she sees no end to it. She doesn’t believe she _deserves_ an end to it.  You don’t have to be happy with her. You don’t even have to forgive her right now. But you need to talk to her. You need to let her know where you’re at. And most of all, you need to let her know if there’s still hope for you two. Because if there isn’t, you need to let her go and I need to consider having her move in with me so we can get her back on track.”

 

Lexa’s eyes fall and her lip trembles and her chest pounds because her perfect family and perfect wife and perfect world is so tortured beyond recognition she has no idea what to do with herself. “I don’t want to let her go,” she whispers. “But I’m so angry with her.” She raises her eyes and finds nothing but sympathy from her wife’s mother. It makes it all worse, because Abby should be on Clarke’s side. “She should have _trusted_ me.”

  
“I know, Sweetheart. But you and I both know Clarke has trust issues. And while she’s come really far, it gets the best of her sometimes. That’s not fair to you, I know. But you both have…baggage,” Abby says as delicately as she can. “And when you put two people together who both have a lot of struggling in their history, you’re bound to run into turbulence. This is your turblance. Now you two have to decide if you want to fly ahead or land.”

Lexa shakes her head. “No, this isn’t our turbulence. Our turbulence started three years ago when I left for Paris. Who leaves their 7-month pregnant wife alone for half a year to go gallivanting around France?”

 

Abby’s face scrunches in confusion and she sits up. “I thought you two worked that out. She told me you two had worked it out.”

 

“She talked to you about it?”

 

“Well….yeah. I mean, she was struggling with it for a while. We talked through it for months before and after you got back.”

 

Lexa blinks and raises her face to the ceiling, trying, and failing, to curb her emotions. “Fuck,” she hisses. She shakes her head, still avoiding Abby’s gaze. “She never…we never…”

 

“Lexa?”

 

Lexa returns her gaze, cheeks wet. “No she...she never mentioned it. We never talked about it. I thought she was fine. This is _my_ fault. _I_ did this. I lost her trust long before that picture.” Then it dawns on her. “Did she tell her friends about it? Do you know? Nylah? Echo?”

 

“Wha—I—I don’t know, Lexa. I—maybe?" Abby stumbles over the new information. "I know Echo and Nylah were around more often around that time, but so were all of her friends. She needed the help and they were happy to oblige.”

 

“That’s how they did it,” Lexa seethes. “They knew and they…they exploited that.”

 

“Lexa, honey, I’m lost. What are you talking about?”

 

“Nylah and Echo! They set this up. They published that photo and told Clarke I cheated. Echo was trying to punish me fore getting her mother indicted for fraud. They knew they could do this because they knew it was Clarke’s one ultimatum and that I’d already lost her trust.”

 

Abby, wide-eyed and bewildered, struggles to keep up, but she knows one thing for sure. “You didn’t lose her trust, Lexa. You just…you scared her. She thought she’d lost you and I think ever since then she’s been waiting for the day you decided you liked your life in France better. But you didn’t lose her trust. If you’d lost her trust, she’d be long gone, Sweetheart.”

 

Lexa exhales shakily, exhausted and daunted by this mammoth of a day.“I’m so confused, Abby.”

 

“Why, sweetheart?”

 

“Because…because I’m _angry._ I’m still so angry that she never gave me the chance to prove the picture wrong. And she just…kicked me out so easily. I lost her _and_ Lexie all at once—“

 

“I know, Lexa. I know. And that wasn’t fair, and she knows that—“

 

“I know, I…I’m not done,” Lexa says softly.

 

“Okay. Go on.”

 

“I’m angry with her, yes. But I’m angry with myself,” Lexa continues. “And I’m embarrassed for how I behaved three years ago. I was terrified. I was so scared I’d end up like my foster parents, that’d I’d screw Lexie up just like me. I thought it was better if I was gone, and I never…I never fucking apologized for abandoning them like that. And Clarke, god _Clarke._ She gave up everything. Her life. Her job. And she never told me what that did to her. She never told me.” Lexa shakes her head, realization hitting her. “And I never asked.”

 

Abby slides in next to Lexa and pulls her close, squeezing her tightly. As tightly as she can without hurting her. “Your love for her is so fierce, Lexa.” Lexa nods, sniffling. “And so is hers for you. I know you can overcome this. You both just need to get better at communicating.”

 

“I’m so ashamed,” Lexa whispers.

 

Abby nods. “So is she, hon. But you two can do better. I know you can.”

 

“I don’t know how.”

 

Abby sighs. “I think you should see a couple’s therapist.”

 

Lexa nods. “I’ll do anything.”

 

//

 

The second time Lexa walks, she has to sneak past Abby’s sleeping form, as she shuffles out of the guest room and up the stairs, slowly, to their bedroom.

 

Clarke looks stressed, even in sleep. All wrapped up tight into herself, forehead scrunched, eyes clenched. Lexa’s brand new stitches sting and tug as she lowers herself to the bed. She ignores it and drags herself up next to her wife. “Clarke,” she whispers, kissing her on her creased forehead. “Baby.”

 

Clarke’s blinks away easier than expected and stares at Lexa, sleepy and confused. “Lex?”

 

“Hey, baby.”

 

Clarke swallows, weary and nervous at the show of affection. It’s new and undeserved and she has no idea what to do with it. “Are you okay? Are you hungry?” Clarke starts to sit up, but Lexa shakes her head and gently presses her back down, urging her to relax. But, as if she’s suddenly had a realization, Clarke jerks up and gapes at her. “How did you get up here? Did you walk up the stairs?”

 

“Well, I sort of more like crawled,” Lexa chuckles, but Clarke is far from amused.

 

“ _Lexa_.”

 

“ _Clarke_.”

 

“This isn’t a joke. You were _impaled,_ Lexa. But a fucking street sighn. I almost _lost_ you. You cant,” Clarke begins stuttering, her emotions besting her, “you can, just, just _walk_ up the stairs!”

 

“Hey,” Lexa soothes, bringing Clarke back down, persistent against even Clarke’s strongest. resistance, “lay down. Just lay down with me. I’m okay.”

 

Clarke places her hand gently over Lexa’s stomach. “You have to be careful, Lexa,” she whispers, and Lexa hates the tears that coat her wife’s beautiful blue eyes. The only consistent thing left in their relationship, it seems.

 

“I was careful.”

 

Clarke deliberates, but eventually nods, then pulls away from her slightly, confused and timid again. “What are you doing?”

 

Lexa looks at herself, then Clarke. “I’m…laying with my wife.”

 

“Why?” The look of hurt Lexa can’t help has Clarke immediately apologizes. “No, I’m sorry, I just meant…I…”

 

“Why now?”

 

Clarke nods.

 

“I missed you.”

 

Clarke’s lip does a quick little shake before she pulls it between her teeth.

 

“I’m sorry, Clarke.”

 

Clarke looks disgusted and shakes her head violently. “You have _nothing_ to be sorry for, Lexa. I was…I was a bitch. I mean, honestly. I was so cruel. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

 

“Oh, but I did, sweetheart,” Lexa says shakily. “I did.”

 

“Lex, what—“

 

“Paris?”

 

This silences Clarke as she averts her eyes and tints red. “Oh,” she whispers. “Lex, it’s…it’s okay.”

 

“I abandoned you.”

 

“It was years ago.”

 

“It doesn’t matter. I left you, all alone, and you never once complained.”

 

“You were scared.”

 

“I—wait, what?”

 

Clarke looks up at her with those big, gorgeous eyes. “You were scared, Lex. It’s okay.”

 

“You…you knew?”

 

Clarke chuckles, softly. Sadly. “Of course I knew. You’re my wife. I’ve known you your whole life. I know when you’re running away.”

 

Lexa practically gapes. She thought she’d been so clever. So subtle in her fear. Masquerading around like she absolutely had to be there for her company’s opening. Had to be there to start things up, run it for a few months, make sure everything was fine, despite knowing it was more than fine. “Why did you _let_ me?”

 

Clarke shrugs. “I didn’t want to lose you,” she whispers. “I knew you were scared, and I didn’t want to force you into something you weren’t ready for.”

 

“Weren’t you scared?”

 

Clarke smiles, peacefully, and it’s the most beautiful thing Lexa’s ever seen. “Terrified,” she says. “But I got Lexie out of it, and then it was just…beautiful.”

 

Lexa closes her eyes, let’s the tears fall unrestricted.

 

 

 

“Hey,” Clarke coos,” hey, now. Lex. What’s wrong?”

 

“You knew…and you just let me go. You never even punished me for it.”

 

“I’d say you got it pretty good with those divorce papers.”

 

Lexa looks at her. Really looks at her, starting to understand. “Is that what that was?”

 

Clarke looks back, and it’s like something settles between them. Something years in the making, finally settling. It’s like coming home, once and for all, tired and battered, but better for it. “I think so,” she whispers. “I don’t think I ever really forgave you, even though I understood where you were coming from. I thought I’d lost you, and…I guess I just feel like I’ve spent the last three years trying to hang onto you. I was never sure if you ever really came back to me.”

 

Lexa nods, her hair swishing on the pillow as the only sound in their soft, quiet room. “I’m so sorry, Clarkey.” She boldly kisses her wife on the head, and to her amazement, to her ecstatic relief, Clarke leans into it.

 

“I’m sorry too. I was way out of line. And even if I was angry with you about Paris, I should have never kept you from Lexie.”

 

Lexa nudges their foreheads together, breathes in her wife’s sweet smell for the first time in ages. “I missed her, but I trusted you with her. You’re an amazing mother, Clarke.”

 

Clarke smiles. “So are you. She loves you so much.”

 

Lexa laughs, wet and full, “I love her too. I love _you,_ Clarke.”

 

Clarke cries next, thick and cathartic, draining out of her as years of fear and heartache start to find closure. “Still?”

 

Lexa nods. “Of course. Do you think you can forgive me?”

 

Clarke chuckles. “Already done. I’m not gonna ask you to forgive me, Lex. I told you that…at the accident. But can you do something for me?”

 

“Anything, Clarke.”

 

“Can you promise to stay? As long as you want to, promise you’ll be here. Present and communicative. And if things get bad or scary, don’t run. Just talk to me.”

 

Lexa bites her lip, embarrassed and hopeful. “I can do that.”

 

“And one last thing,” Clarke whispers.

 

“Like I said…anything.”

 

Inching closer, eyes shut and watering. Clarke sniffs and grabs at Lexa’s shirt. “Will you kiss me?”

 

Lexa, elated and full, laughs and does just that. “Forever,” she whispers a moment later. “Forever.”

 

 


	39. I Do Until I Don't Pt. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You guys. We have a problem. You've made me CARE about this story UGH. These fools in love and their backstory is becoming so much more complex than I ever planned for them to me. 
> 
> I have this terrible sinking suspicion...that I need to keep writing them. YOU GUYS. WHAT HAVE YOU DONEl. I think...THINK...I'm going to finish this in another chapter or so and then make it into a new universe and start writing one-shots in it...maybe even their highschool/college story. That being said I'll probably make a new thing for it and update the last chapters their under the same title "I Do Until I Don't." 
> 
> I so do not have time for this. *rubs forehead and sighs dramatically.* Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They dance to THIS: https://youtu.be/7dqMyh4ILIg

_Clarke bounces her wailing newborn up and down, her own tears making it hard to see where she’s going as she paces the halls. Her pelvis and cervix ache, but still she walks. Over and over, covering every inch of her large, empty home._

_“Please, baby. Please hush. Mommy’s here.” She bounces and coos and hugs and does everything she can, but her tiny daughter is distraught and unappeasable._

_She tries Lexa’s cell. It’s noon in Paris, and she hopes, almost prays, that she’ll catch her on some kind of lunch break. Just talk. Or maybe cry. Anything but this suffocating aloneness._

_It rings and rings, barely heard over the sound of her daughter’s screams that split the quiet nighttime._

_She hangs up. Tries her mother, fruitlessly. She knows she’s in surgery. But she just needs someone, anyone, to talk to, and it’s too late to call a friend._

_An hour passes—a long, loud, excruciating hour—before Clarke finally gives up on the phone calls and the pacing, and collapses into the nursery chair, rocking back and forth._

_“You’re okay, princess. My sweet little one,” she coos. “You’re okay.” Clarke throws her head back, let’s out a shaky breath and tries to curb her exhausted tears. She cradles the baby close, bringing her up just under her chin to kiss and smell the soft, sweetness of her bald, little head. “Mommy’s here,” she mutters, sniffing through her words. “I’m here, baby.”_

_//_

Lexa listens to Clarke’s story with tears in her eyes, her hand instinctively moving to grasp Clarke’s across the couch. She doesn’t look up for fear of what she’ll meet in their new therapist’s eyes.

 

Clarke takes her hand and gives it a gentle squeeze, but that doesn’t make the rest any easier.

 

“I just felt so alone,” Clarke sighs, continuing. “I was in way over my head, but I was proud and stubborn so I just. Suffered through it.”

 

Their therapist nods, hums and scribbles some more on her notepad. The incessant scratching of her pen drives Lexa nuts. The woman finally looks up over her square glasses and give Clarke an encouraging smile. “And did you tell Lexa this?”

 

Clarke shakes her head.

 

“Why not?”

 

Clarke looks down. “I was proud of her,” she murmurs. “I didn’t want to take away from her accomplishments. Her dream, since as long as I can remember, has been to have a multi-national corporation and she finally did it. I wanted her to have her dream.”

 

“You’re my dream,” Lexa cuts in, gazing at her emphatically. “You.”

 

“And how about Lexie?” The therapists asks innocently, but it makes Lexa bristle.

 

“Of course. But I didn’t wrong Lexie. I wronged Clarke and Clarke needs to know that she’s my everything. And that—“ She turns to Clarke, “—I’d give up my company in a second if I had to choose.”

 

“I don’t want you to ever have to choose, Lex,” Clarke says, shaking her head.

 

“But if I had to—“

 

“Lexa,” the therapist calls, gently interrupting, “I want to talk a little bit about your experience in Paris. Is that okay?”

 

“Sure,” not really paying attention. She’s stuck on Clarke, staring at her for fear that if she looks away, she’ll miss something important again.

 

Clarke gives her a small smile, and then a teasing chuckle as she nudges Lexa and tells her to pay attention.

 

“How did you find your time in Paris? Good? Bad?”

 

“It was fine.”

 

More scribbling.

 

“Can you elaborate?”

 

“It was busy.”

 

“What was your ratio of work to play, so to speak?”

 

“It was all work,” Lexa snaps, defensively. She glares at that damn, mocking pen.

 

“Lex,” Clarke murmurs, barely audible, and runs her hand soothingly up and down Lexa’s thigh.

 

Lexa takes a breath, eyes on the notepad. “It was mostly work. I went out some.”

 

“Out?”

 

“Yes. Out.”

 

“Bars? Clubs?”

 

Lexa glares. “Museums. Schools. Things like that. I gave a lecture at one of their universities once.”

 

“You did?” Clarke turns to her, eyes curious and admiring. “You didn’t tell me that.”

 

“It wasn’t a big deal. Kind of last minute.”

 

“That’s neat, baby.”

 

Lexa sits up a little straighter, full of quiet pride.

 

“So, no parties? Drinking? That sort of thing?”

 

Lexa turns back to the therapist confused and annoyed as to why she seems hell bent on thinking the worst of her. “No,” she growls.

 

The therapist lays her pen down and sits back in her chair. “I’m just trying to establish a pattern, Lexa. Trying to get to the bottom of your relationship’s history, and why both of you tend to make the decisions you do regarding each other.”

 

“I’m not a fuck boy,” Lexa snaps, “if that’s what you’re trying to get at. I didn’t cheat on my wife in Paris and I didn’t cheat on her here. I may have been a coward by running away and staying there, but I was dedicated to my work while I was there. I wanted…I wanted to have something, wanted to _be_ something worth—“ she stops, swallows hard. She turns her attention to the window, unable to finish.

 

“Worth what? Lexa. Finish that thought…worth what?”

 

Lexa shakes her head and shrugs. “Nothing. Never mind.”

 

“Hey,” Clarke soothes, “talk to us. Talk to _me._ What were you gonna say?”

 

Lexa bites her lip, stares out at the blurry view of Central park. “I wanted—“ it comes out small and choked. She sucks air in and closes her eyes. “I wanted to be worth… _sticking around_ for.” She let’s out a small cry, and crosses her arms, annoyed at herself. “My parents left me. My foster parents dumped me.” She shrugs. “I wanted to be worth… wanting…for my child. I wanted her to be proud of me. Wanted to be something she could want. And I wasn’t. So I had to…do something.”

 

“I see. And Clarke--” The therapist picks up her pen again and turns to Clarke, ready to move on, but Clarke stops her.  
  
“Hold on, I’m sorry. Just one sec.” She turns to Lexa, fully faces her, and takes her hands. “Sweetheart.”

 

Lexa remains fixed on the window. Gently, ever so gently, Clarke palms Lexa’s cheek and turns her head. Clarke’s always thought Lexa’s eyes looked beautiful when wet, but today they just make her heart ache. “Lexa.”

 

“I’m sorry, Clarke,” Lexa whispers, shaking her head. “I—“

 

“No, hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. I never knew…that you felt that way. You’re our shining star, Lexa. We love you so much.”

 

“But you were so ready to divorce me—“

 

Clarke opens her mouth to disagree, but she can’t. Lexa is right. Painfully right.

 

“May I?” The therapist offers, her presence almost forgotten. The couple nods. “Clarke, let’s talk about your thought process. Jumping straight to divorce. What was that about?”

 

“I don’t know. I...” she looks guiltily to the side, peering at Lexa. “I guess I just…wanted to make her hurt the way she hurt me. I wanted to it to be so drastic that she’d never ever hurt me again.”

 

“Is that typical for you? Do you often handle your pain this way?”

 

“I don’t…understand,” Clarke stutters. “What do you mean?”

 

“That kind of…retribution. Is that standard practice for you?”

 

“Well…I think it’s pretty standard practice for everyone, don’t you?”

 

“I’m not concerned with everyone. I want to hear about _you._ ”

 

Clarke hesitates, feeling the same defensiveness she’d heard from her wife just a moment ago when she was in the hot seat.

 

“Clarke’s not a spiteful person,” Lexa offers when her wife remains silent. “But she hurts deeply. She feels everything deeply.”

 

“Do you find your emotions hard to control, Clarke?”

 

“Sometimes,” Clarke murmurs, leaning into her wife’s arm now. Thankful and longing for the support.

 

“Who would you say has more control: you or your emotions?”

 

“I think, me. But I don’t know.”

 

“You don’t know? Can you elaborate?”

 

Clarke sighs and looks down at her hands. She’s never shared this before. It’s embarrassing and terrifying. But if there was ever a time, now would be it. “I don’t always know if what’s happening is actually happening.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Clarke audibly swallows, like a caricature gulp, but it’s not funny, it’s awkward and embarrassing and she hates it.

 

“It’s okay, Clarke. You’re okay.” Lexa nudges her and kisses her on the head.

 

Clarke nods, gathering courage. “Sometimes…I don’t trust myself…my _reactions._ I often question whether I’m having an appropriate response, and I never really know how to tell.”

 

“Is that why you never bring things up?” Lexa asks before the therapist can butt in.

 

Clarke looks up at her, wide eyed and trusting. “I think so,” she whispers. “I don’t know.”

 

Lexa turns to the therapist. “Clarke rarely stands up for herself. She let’s people do shitty things and rarely ever reacts the way most people would.”

 

“Because I never know if I’m taking things too hard. I’ve always been told I’m sensitive.”

 

“Empathetic,” Lexa offers as a gentler alternative.

 

The therapist once again puts down her pen, but this time she sets her whole set up aside, and Lexa immediately breathes easier. “This is what I’m hearing,” the therapist begins, leaning towards them with intelligent eyes. “Lexa, you have a hard time feeling worthy. You blame yourself for your parents’ and step-parents’ absence, so when you are fearful, you place yourself in distracting situations, often by distancing yourself from the matter. Such as moving to Paris for six months during Clarke’s pregnancy.”

 

Lexa nods. Sounds about right, even though it twists nauseatingly in her stomach.

 

“And Clarke, you have a hard time trusting.” Clarke snorts—she doesn’t need a therapist to tell her that. “What you may not have considered, though, is that I think you have the hardest time trusting _yourself._ You don’t trust others in your life to be gentle with you, but you also don’t trust yourself to determine when your boundaries are being crossed. Thus, you either resign yourself to the treatment or you lash out in overreaction. Like the divorce papers.”

 

Clarke hadn’t considered it that way before, no. But it makes sense. The panic. The anxiety attacks that always seemed to stem from the endless questions that constantly ran through her mind when she was upset. Often questions that contradicted themselves. Questions that made everyone the enemy, even herself. Questions that made trusting even her reality sometimes difficult.  “Yeah,” she mutters. Lexa slides her arm behind her and wraps around her back as if to say, ‘I’m here. You can trust me.’

 

“Here’s what I want to work on, then,” the therapist continues. “Lexa, we need to help you get better at articulating your fears and dealing with them constructively. Clarke, we need to help you become more sure of yourself and others around you. Especially Lexa. I’m gonna give you each a piece of homework that has two parts. One for the self and one for the relationship. For Lexa, I want you to start writing down, everyday, instances in which you feel or have felt unworthy and/or flighty. It doesn’t have to be something that happened that day. You can even write about Paris. It doesn’t matter as long as it’s everyday. Try to give at least three points. That’s for you. For the relationship, I then want you to take time, every night, and read those points to Clarke.” She turns to Clarke. “Clarke, I want you to really hear those points. Listen to what Lexa is telling you, regardless of whether you agree or not. If Lexa tells you that she doesn’t feel worthy because she thought the dinner she made tasted poorly, even if you think it was the best meal of your life, I want you to hear what Lexa is saying. Then discuss. It’s not up to you to make everything go away, but do your best to reassure her that she has worth to you. As a friend, as a wife, as a mother, etc. Can you do that?”

 

They both nod, Clarke taking notes on her phone. It makes Lexa smile to see the dedication. She bends down and kisses her briefly on the head.

 

“For Clarke, this is a little trickier given your history with DPD. We need to focus on three layers, here. Trusting yourself, trusting Lexa, and trusting your reality. The latter should not pose too much of a threat outside of your panic attacks. Would you say that’s true?”

  
“Yeah,” Clarke mutters, eyes still on her phone, though Lexa can see that it’s because she’s feeling shy, her fingers having since stopped typing.

 

“Alright. Then for you, I want you to make a list of things that have made you distrust either yourself or other people. Maybe there are times when it’s been both. Then, I want you to write down the first emotion that comes to mind when you remember those events and people. Don’t question, or second guess. Just the first thing that comes to mind whether it’s sadness, anger, betrayal, vulnerability, etc.  Now, here’s the important step. I want you to look at those emotions and I want you to tell yourself, out loud, ‘Yes, that’s right, I was x,y,z.’ Let yourself hear it, let yourself believe it without any fear of repercussion or conflict.  Can you do that?”

 

Clarke nods.

 

“Good.”

 

“How can I help her?” Lexa pipes up, eagerly.

 

“I have something I want you two to work on together, don’t worry. Clarke, I want you to talk to Lexa about your time with Lexie while she was in Paris. In full, with as much detail as you can remember. Talk about your day to day schedule, things that made you laugh. Things that made you cry. Talk to her about Lexie’s milestones and setbacks. Help Lexa understand what that time was like for you. Help her to connect that time to you and Lexie. When you’re talking about it, I want you to tell her the times you wish she’d been there. Specifically, if it’s because you were feeling overwhelmed or scared. But be careful how you do this. Don’t blame Lexa for not being there. Don’t punish for it. Simply talk with her about how characteristics of hers would have been appreciated. Show her that you valued and value her.” She turns back to Lexa. “Lexa, this is going to do two things. This is going to help you feel more a part of that time and help repair those lost connections. It’s also going to help you understand Clarke’s mindset and her emotions from that time that are very likely still lingering. This will help you help her identify when there are hidden emotions and circumstances driving her decisions. But don’t ever tell Clarke what she is feeling or that what she is feeling is wrong. Rather, be her ally. Help her trust herself by trusting her. By you trusting her, and helping her to trust herself, that’s going to help her start to trust you.”

 

The therapist scoots back into her chair and settles, hands crossing in her lap. “Yes? Any questions?

 

They shake their heads silently, still processing everything they’ve been told.

 

“No? Good. In the meantime, Lexa I want you to keep seeing your individual therapist, and Clarke…I want you to consider individual therapy as well. I don’t think you need to go back on medication. Putting you back on Sertraline will hinder your ability to focus on and trust your emotions. But I do believe it’d be helpful for you to check in with someone for your individual needs at least once a week. If you’d like, I can set you up with a referral at check-out.”

 

//

 

The park is peaceful at this time of day. Most everyone still at work or on their way home to get dinner started or pick up the kids.

 

“How’re you feeling?” Clarke laces her fingers with Lexa’s as they stroll, waiting for Abby to hand Lexie off.

 

“Uh, good. Yeah, good.”

 

“You sure?”

 

Lexa nods, though no, she isn’t sure. She’s good, definitely, good. But…there’s something else too. She cocks her head. She’s…she’s overwhelmed. And worried. And _excited_ for the future. “It’s just a lot to take in,” she mutters.

 

Clarke hums and presses her cheek to the outside of Lexa’s arm.

 

“You?”

 

“Oh, I’m good. I meant…I meant more your stomach,” Clarke chuckles, smiling shyly.  
  
“ _Oh.”_ Lexa looks down at herself. “Yeah, I’m okay. Little sore.”

 

“Should we sit?”

 

Lexa looks around, eyes appreciating and lingering on the fall leaves, the pink cheeked pedestrians milling about in excited undertones now that the snow has finally thawed. She smiles, content. “How about some hot chocolate?”

 

//

 

Lexa watches Clarke sip her hot chocolate like it’s a dance. Her pretty, pink lips around the rim. The delicate swallow in her neck. The flush of her cheeks at the heat. When Clarke pulls away, there’s whipped cream on her nose, and Lexa nearly bursts.

 

Gently, adoringly, she brushes the cream away with her finger, eyes trying to find a place to land. She brushes her thumb over her cheekbone, down her jaw. It’s familiar and new, all at the same time. Their physical affection having become shaky and unsure after everything. But Lexa can’t help herself today. Not when Clarke is looking up at her like she is—all wide, wet, blue eyes.

 

“I love you, Clarke,” she whispers, fingers still dancing over her soft, pale skin.

 

Clarke is awed, trapped and entranced by Lexa’s sudden tenderness. “I…love you too,” she sighs, stepping in closer. Lexa’s hands drop to her hips, gently tugging her in until they’re inches away from flush. 

 

“We’re going to be okay.”

 

Clarke nods, gazing up at her still. “I know.”

 

“I think I’d like to take you on a date.”

 

Clarke smiles, her stomach flipping in a pleasant, almost adolescent way. “Okay.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

She nods, biting her lip. “Yeah.”

 

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” Lexa asks, grinning because she knows exactly what Clarke is doing.

 

Clarke shrugs, feigning indifference. “I dunno. Gotta check my calendar.”

 

“Think you could pencil me in? Seven o’clock? Arkadia?”

 

Clarke blinks. “Arkadia?”

 

“Yeah…is that okay?”

 

“It’s…pricey. Fancy, I mean.”

 

Lexa runs her hands through Clarke’s hair. “I miss wining and dining you. Wooing you.”

 

Clarke drops her forehead, resting against Lexa’s. “You do woo me,” she whispers.

 

“I have a lot of making up to do,” Lexa admits, hands stilling. But Clarke nuzzles and so she starts again with a small, gratified smile.

 

“So do I. Maybe more so.”

 

Lexa shakes her head. “There’s no score, baby. We both…hurt each other. I just want to show you how much I love you.”

 

“I wanna show you too.”

 

“So meet me at Arkadia, then. Seven. We’ll have dinner. Maybe drive out of the city. Look at the stars.”

 

“Who will watch Lexie?”

 

“I’ll ask Raven.”

  
Clarke pulls back, eye brow arched. “Really?”

 

Lexa shrugs. “She owes me.”

 

“You’re okay with her watching Lexie. After what she did to you?”

 

“ _To me_ , being the operative. She loves Lexie. I trust that. She’s watched her hundreds of times before and we’ve never had problems.”

 

Clarke considers it. “But do you really want to reward her with time with our daughter? She really hurt you, Lex. I’m happy keeping her out of our lives a little longer if that’s what you need.”

 

Lexa smiles at the offer. “I’m not rewarding her. I’m using her.”

 

“I’m not sure that’s healthy,” Clarke chuckles.

 

“It’s probably not. But I want to take you out, and I’d rather it be Raven than Bellamy or Octavia. At least Raven bothered to stay in my life…even if it was to tell me off. Bellamy and Octavia vanished like I was nothing. _That’s_ something I don’t trust with our child. I trust Raven’s consistency, at least.”

 

Clarke sighs. “If you’re sure.”

 

“We could ask Kane, but I think he’s working.”

 

“How about Anya?”

 

“I’ve got her buried in work. She’s got a lot to catch up on to replace Nia.”

 

“Maybe she can take the night off. She’d probably appreciate the break.” She boops Lexa on the nose, teasing.

 

“I’ll watch her.”

 

They turn to find Abby standing a bit away, a sleeping Lexie in her arms.

 

“Hey,” Clarke greets, softly as to not wake the little one up. “But you have work.”

 

Abby shrugs. “I’ll take off. This is important.”

 

“So is your job,” Lexa chuckles, “you’re chief of surgery.”

 

“Which means I don’t actually do much operating. I’ll have Kane cover, it’s not big deal. I want to do this for you two. You deserve it.”  

 

//

 

Clarke feels like a fool as she turns circles in front of the mirror. A giddy, nervous, happy fool.

 

“Clarke?” Abby calls from the stairs.

 

“I’m…I’m in the bedroom.” She gives herself another once over, turns to look at her dress’ lowcut back in the mirror. She catches a reflection of Abby’s smile in the door way and sighs. “Is it too much?”

 

“No, you’re gorgeous, babygirl.”

 

“Think she’ll like it?”

 

Abby steps into the room and runs her hands along Clarke’s sides, smoothing out the satin fabric, looking something akin to the way she had during Clarke’s first prom. “She’ll love it, Clarke. You look beautiful.”

 

Fretting, and fourteen all over again, she turns and searches for excuses. “You sure watching Lexie won’t be too much?”

 

“I’ve been watching Lexie for the entirety of her three years on this Earth, hon, I think we’ll be okay.”

 

“Yes, but she’s been moody lately. And she’s still being difficult to get down at night. Lexa and I can just reschedule, it’s not—“

 

“Clarke. Sweetheart.” Abby grips onto her arms, steadying, sure. “It’s going to be alright. You have nothing to be afraid of. After all, you’ve done this a few times before,” she teases.

 

Clarke swallows and deflects her eyes. “But what if everything is different now? What if we don’t even know each other anymore?”

 

“Hey,” Abby tilts her daughter’s chin and catches her worried eyes. “You’ve known Lexa your entire life. You two got each other from the start, even I could see it. I thought you were a little young at fourteen to be declaring your undying love, but I could also tell it was something special, so I let it go. And look at you two now. Fifteen years and a beautiful daughter…that doesn’t come from two people who can’t get over a few obstacles.”

 

Clarke is silent for a moment, blinking away her emotions. She shrugs, ashamed and almost disbelieving. “But I tried to _divorce_ her, Mom. And all of our friends…they just turned on her so easily when she was all alone and I let it happen.”

 

“There’s no way you could have known they would do that, Clarke—“

 

“Of course I knew they would.” Clarke laughs at herself. “Of course. They’ve been critical of Lexa since day one and _never_ failed to let the both of us know. I thought it’d finally be better after marriage or hell, after we had a child together. But I knew…and still, I let them stay in our lives when I should have been more protective. She’s my _wife_ and I just let these people continue to shit on her because—what? Because I liked their company? Because they’re convenient?”

 

“Hey now,” Abby soothes, trying and failing to keep up with Clarke’s ramping emotions as her daughter paces the room. She catches her near the bathroom and grabs her face in her hands. “Hey. Be still.”

 

Clarke stays, breathing hard, eyes a little too wide.

 

“You’re beating yourself up for way too much, Clarke. I know you feel like you need to punish yourself, but that’s enough of that. You both made poor choices, you both endured pain by the other’s hand, and guess what? You both found your way back to each other. It’s time to stop taking score. Lexa has forgiven you, you’ve forgiven Lexa. Let yourself breathe, Clarke.”

 

“I just—“ Clarke wipes her nose, child-like, on the back of her wrist. “I can’t stop wondering what wouldn’ve happened if she hadn’t gotten in the accident. I mean, that’s why we made up, right?”

 

Abby clucks her tongue at her. “You and I both know that’s not why you made up. The accident, though terrible and traumatizing, just helped speed up the process a little bit. You would’ve gotten here eventually. You love each other too much not to have.”

 

“I just don’t know if I deserve to be back here with her. When I think back, I just feel like I’ve been hurting her for _years._ And I never really knew until I was angry enough at my friends to open my eyes and realize just how shitty they’ve been to her our entire lives. What kind of wife—“

 

“Clarke, stop.” Abby’s grip becomes a little firmer, though still gentle. “You are not a bad person. You are not a bad wife. If Lexa was miserable or unhappy with your friends, she would have done something about it long ago. I know you love your wife and you want to protect her from all the bad in the world because of everything she’s been through, but Lexa is not a child, Clarke. She is a remarkably strong, intelligent woman. You did not put her through anything she wasn’t willing to go through.”

 

“But that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Clarke asks quietly. “She went through it for me. Because I insisted on keeping them around.”

 

“Sometimes we do things we don’t want to for the people we love, Clarke. That’s normal.”

 

“But what have I ever done for her?”

 

“Clarke,” Abby chides, but Clarke stares at her blankly. Abby sighs. “Your contract with MOMA? Your social life for the past three years? Your sanity in the months after Lexie was born? You have done more than enough, Clarke. So has she. It’s time to stop looking at the past and just move forward together.” She kisses Clarke on the forehead. “There’s so much love there, sweetheart. Please don’t waste it. Now, go finish getting ready.”

 

Clarke wants to object, but Abby wipes away a stray tear on her cheek and shakes her head. “You’re such a good girl, Clarke. Let yourself be happy.”

 

With a shaky, resigned sigh, Clarke nods and turns back towards the mirror. “You really think this is okay?”  

 

“I think you’re going to take her breath away. When’s she getting home?”

 

“She’s gonna meet me there. She’s coming straight from work.”

 

“How’s that going for her? Being back?”

 

Clarke players with the necklace at her collarbone, adjusting and readjusting the height nervously. “I think it’s good. She’s spending too much time on her feet, but it’s helping her mind. She’d been so restless.”

 

“How’s her scar tissue? Is she rolling every night?”

 

 Clarke grimaces for Lexa’s sake. “I think so? I know how much it hurts her, so I don’t know if she’s doing it every night.”

 

“You don’t see her doing it?”

 

“Well…” Clarke stammers, blushing. “We’re not sleeping together yet.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“We just thought…that, I don’t know, maybe we needed some time to get back to being…us…first.”

 

“I’m confused. Are we talking sleeping together or _sleeping_ together.”

 

“Oh my god, I’m not having this discussion with you.”

 

Abby furrows. “I’m just concerned, Clarke. You mean you’re still not back to sharing a bed?”

 

Clarke shrugs sheepishly.

 

“And whose idea was that _actually_?”

 

“Both.” Abby cocks her brow. Clarke rolls her eyes. “Mine.”

 

“And why is that?”

 

“It just feels weird, mom, okay? We’re like… _dating_ again or whatever this weird thing is. I feel like we’ve jumped back in time and sleeping next to each other just feels really fast. After everything we’ve been through. I want to take things slow so that we don’t miss anything again. Because when I’m with her…like physically…everything just melts away and it’s like I don’t notice anything other than how wonderful she feels. And I can’t afford to be distracted. Not when we’re trying to heal and fix our issues.”

 

Abby nods slowly, obvious in her lingering confusion.

 

“What?” Clarke snaps, defensive and nervous and oh so emotional.

 

“Nothing, I’m just surprised is all. I would have thought you’d be all over each other after making up.”

 

“Well we were, at first. At the hospital. But then I felt like I took advantage of her state to satisfy my own cravings to have her near. It’s not like she could have put up a fight against me sleeping in her hospital bed if she’d wanted to.”

 

“You sleeping in her hospital bed and doting on her helped heal her faster, Clarke, I believe that one hundred percent. There’s no way she should be as far along as she is now after an accident like that. Your love is what made the difference. She had a reason to fight.”

A small smile fights its way onto Clarke’s face for the briefest of moments before Clarke shrugs. “Still. I just want to be back to normal before we sleep together again.”

 

“Sleep together? Or _sleep_ together?”

 

“I’m so not having this discussion with you.”

 

“What? Now, you’re a prude too?”

 

Clarke grins and finally drops the necklace, leaving it where it is. “I’m a lady. Ladies don’t kiss and tell.”  

 

Abby chuckles. “Well miss lady, you better get going or you’ll be late. Not very lady-like.”

 

Clarke stills, the inevitability of her reality finally unavoidable. She looks at her mother like a scared child. “So this is it?”

 

“Don’t be so dramatic, Clarke. She’s your wife. You’ll have a great time. If you ever leave that is.”

 

Clarke glares, following her mother out of the room. “Where’s my baby? I want to say bye before I go.”

 

“She in her play pen in the living room.”

 

“Alone?!”

 

“I’ve got the monitor, Clarke, and she’s confined to a three feet by three feet space. She’s fine.” She urges her down the stairs.

 

“But she’s my baby.”

 

“And you’re _my_ baby. And I need you to quit acting like one and go meet your wife.”

 

//

 

Clarke can’t stop smiling as she watches Lexa, tall and beautiful and frazzled, rush across the street to meet her. With her pink cheeks and perfectly-fitted gray suit, her silky hair and elegant, black, knee-length coat, Clarke swoons, unabashed and proud.

 

Though when Lexa gets close, and stops in front of her, suddenly she’s mindless and speechless and trembling with nerves. Lexa says something, probably “hi,” and kisses her on the cheek like it’s the most normal thing in the world, but Clarke is lost and shy and pink with embarrassment.

 

She catches a few more of Lexa’s words here and there as they walk into the restaurant. Things like “Sorry I was late,” and “Anya needed help with a report,” and “Rushed over as soon as I could.” She smiles out of habit at the hostess and smiles again when she catches Lexa’s “Woods, reservation for two,” and the hostess’ “Okay, right this way.”

 

It’s not until Lexa takes her hands under the table and gives them a gentle squeeze, and calls her name with sweet eyes and a concerned frown, that she blinks and everything comes back into focus, like turning the volume back up.

 

She blinks, even gives herself the slightest shake. “I’m sorry, what?”

 

Lexa smiles at her, small and timid and dazzling. “Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah.” Clarke smiles, and squeezes back. “Yeah,” she reassures, “I’m great.”

 

“You got awfully quiet on me.”

 

Clarke smiles towards her lap. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, “I’m a little nervous I guess.”

 

Lexa chuckles softly and nods. “Yeah, me too.”

 

“Really?”

 

Lexa nods again. Clarke bites her lip in an attempt to contain her smile, but it shows through anyways. It’s stunning, Lexa thinks. “You’re stunning, Clarke,” she says aloud. “You look really beautiful tonight.”

 

Clarke’s insides squeal, but she forces herself to remain calm as she grins, cheeks hot. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

 

Lexa looks at herself, then frowns in fleeting disappointment. “I’m sorry I didn’t have time to dress up. I wasn’t expecting work to take so long.”

 

“What are you talking about? You look beautiful, Lex.”

 

“I don’t like wearing the clothes I wore to work to a date. It feels lazy. I want you to know how serious I’m taking this. This is really important to me… _you’re_ really important to me.”

 

Clarke’s not sure how much more of Lexa’s chivalry she can take before she implodes. Lexa had always been like this, smooth and romantic and so very sweet, even back in high school. Even when she was angry at the world and had every right to be. Even when she was the shy, terrified, but _intimidating_ little thing no body dared approach. Even then, when it came to Clarke, she was nothing but a romantic sweetheart, so kind it made Clarke’s heart ache.

When Clarke looks up and sees just how earnest Lexa is staring at her, just how emphatically, she wants nothing more than to burrow into her chest and hold her close, restaurant be damned.

 

Instead she swallows and smiles, shaking her head slightly. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“I think you might be the sweetest person in the world, Lexa.”

 

It’s Lexa’s turn to blush. She does it so rarely that when it happens, Clarke can’t help but recall the handful of times she’s seen it before, and how each time made her stomach flip. She finds Lexa’s hand under the table again and laces their fingers together.  “Hey.”

 

Lexa grins. “Hey.”

 

“How was work?”

 

“It was good. Getting somewhere with Anya, I think. Indra did a good job keeping everything afloat while I was out. Now it’s just a matter of getting this Nia bullshit sorted out so that we can work back into the market again.”

 

“Is there still a hold on the company?”

 

Lexa nods, takes a sip of her water. “There will be until a court ruling.”

 

“And they still haven’t decided on a date?”

 

“They want to wait until the audit is complete since it’ll be admissible.”

 

Clarke frowns. “This is such a pain. I’m sorry you’re going through this. I know how hard you worked for your company.”

 

“It’s not going anywhere. We’ll be okay,” Lexa assures, but Clarke knows her wife well enough to hear the hint of doubt. “I’m glad we sorted out Lexie’s trust and college fund years ago. At least we don’t have to worry about her.”

 

“Will they take that though if they indict you for fraud?”

 

“At this point, they’re not looking to indict me. They can trace the money to Nia’s offshore accounts and can see it was being spent in her name for her own personal items. Worse case scenario, I’ll have to come up with whatever the difference is after they recover the remaining funds. Which I have many times over in our joint.”

 

“But that’s _your_ money. That you worked hard for. They can’t make you make up that money if you’re not the one who stole it, can they?”

 

“It’s gotta come from somewhere. They can reclaim Nia’s assets, but I don’t think it’ll cover it. I’d rather pay the difference then let the company take the hit.”

 

Clarke looks like she wants to argue, but instead she sighs. Lexa had built a multi-million dollar, international corporation from nothing in less than a decade. Lexa had been made to handle things like this. And she trusts her.

 

Her heart lurches when she realizes the implication of that thought. She trusts her. She _trusts_ Lexa. She always has. Just yesterday the therapist had told her she needed to learn how to trust Lexa but that’d never been the problem. She just needed to remember how to trust that she trusts Lexa. And that would take examples. Reminders. Reminders just like this. “I love you,” she blurts, suddenly not interested in ordering any longer.

 

Lexa seems to startle for a moment before breaking out into a beaming smile. “I love you too, Clarke.”

 

“Hey, let’s-- Clarke pauses, second guessing herself. She should just breathe. Take a moment to calm down and have a nice, quiet dinner with her wife. But Lexa’s eyes are sparkling and her own hands are trembling, and she feels like a teenager again, open and fresh and falling so very deeply in love.

 

“Let’s, what?”

 

Clarke considers. She stares at Lexa’s expectant gaze and thinks, fuck it. “Let’s get out of here.”

 

//

 

Clarke thrums in the passenger seat of Lexa’s insanely expensive Mercedes as she pilots it through mud and grass to get to the New Jersey cliff edge overlooking the city. At first she’d worried about the car, but when she’d looked over at her wife, Lexa had looked almost gleeful as they turned off the old single-lane road towards their old spot.

 

“Do you think it still looks the same?”

 

Lexa looks over at her just long enough to grin and return to the road, or rather, field. “I hope so.”

 

“I wonder if the tree’s still there.”

 

“Me too,” Lexa murmurs, craning to see. They climb and climb until the land finally starts to flatten out again and a distinct glow comes into view.

 

Lexa pulls the car to a stop and stills, both hands on the wheels, her face focused forward.

 

“Lex?”

 

“I remember the first time we came up here like it was yesterday,” Lexa mutters, eyes glazed like she’s remembering.  Clarke reaches out and wraps her hand over Lexa’s, squeezing.

 

//

 

_Clarke stops to catch her breath as she finally comes upon Lexa’s rusted old, red truck. Annoyed and angry and so very relieved, she storms the rest of the way up the hill and has nothing but venom when she gets to the top._

_But then there’s Lexa’s hunched, little form, sitting atop a fallen tree, knees pulled to her chest as she stares out at the city below. Looking so small and alone, Clarke’s anger melts away into just relief as she walks up behind her, calling her name softly to avoid startling her._

_She breaks when Lexa turns to look at her, eyes wet and puffy._

_“Lex—“_

_“What are you doing here, Clarke?”_

_Clarke winces at the tone, but perseveres until she’s right beside her. “Can I sit?”_

_“You’re probably going to anyways, regardless of what I say, so go ahead.”_

_Clarke crosses her arms, shielding herself against Lexa’s barbs, and sits. “Lex, look—“_

_“You’re gonna talk too? Great.”_

_“Hey,” Clarke snaps, turning her body. Challenging Lexa. “Stop. You don’t get to be mean to me, I didn’t do anything wrong.”_

_“You certainly didn’t do anything right.”_

_Clarke glares and turns back towards the valley, all aglow from the city gridding out over its expanse. They don’t talk for a while, both too stubborn to be the first one to speak. It’s mostly Clarke who’s the stubborn one. For Lexa she supposes it’s the anger._

_As the seconds drag into minutes, without any distraction or movement, Clarke feels the sting of the April nighttime chill. Like the air can’t quite make up its mind between winter and spring, so it’s too warm for a coat, and too cold for no jacket._

_Lucky for Clarke, she’s got on nothing but a strapless dress and some Uggs. Better than heals she supposes as she looks down at her feet, grimacing at the mismatched outfit. She tilts a foot towards her and grimaces harder at the mud. Much better than heals, she thinks, glad she had the foresight to take them off before going off to look for her missing prom date._

_For the most part, she can keep her shivers under control. But when the wind picks up and whips against her bare shoulders, she’s a gonner. She makes a sound with the next wave of chills and twitches as her body shivers violently much to her dismay._

_She’s about to call it quits and tell Lexa to have fun sitting in the cold, when, wordlessly, Lexa peels out of her suit jackets and holds it out. All still while keeping her eyes glued in front of her._

_“Is this a peace offering?” Clarke tries._

_Lexa doesn’t say anything._

_“Because if that’s a peace offering, I accept, but you can keep your jacket and we can go sit in a café or something like normal people and talk where it’s warm.”_

_“You can leave,” Lexa says simply._

_Clarke scoffs and rolls her eyes. “We were doing so well.”_

_“Just take the jacket, Clarke.” Lexa shoves it over and drops it into Clarke’s lap._

_For a second, Clarke thinks about shoving it back. Making a point. But that would only antagonize Lexa further, and really, all Clarke wants is to take Lexa back to the dance and kiss until her lips hurt. So she puts on the jacket and scoots a little closer, adamant even when Lexa starts to drift away. “Can you just talk toe me?” She sighs._

_“You know you could have just told me.”_

_She’s surprised by the response. It makes her sit up, shift herself into awareness because suddenly Lexa is responding, and maybe they’ll finally get somewhere. “Told you what?”_

_Lexa’s jaw tightens._

_“What, Lex?” Clarke, like a feather, places her hand on Lexa’s arm._

_Lexa sighs, her head drooping. “That you were embarrassed of me.”_

_Clarke’s first response is to want to laugh at the absurdity of such a statement. “Embarrassed of you? What are you talking about?”_

_“You don’t have to pretend, Clarke. Echo told me everything. I get it.”_

_“Honestly, I really have no idea what you’re talking about. What did Echo tell you?”_

_Lexa purses her lips. Clarke has yet to see her eyes since she sat, but she can tell by the bob in Lexa’s throat that they’ll be shiny. “Why you didn’t want to go at first. Why you danced with everyone but me.”_

_Clarke furrows in confusion and shakes her head, mouth open to object, but not even sure where to begin._

_“I get why, Clarke. I don’t blame you. But the humane thing to do would’ve been to just let me stay at home like I wantede.”_

_“Lexa, what on earth—“_

_“Oh, don’t play innocent, Clarke. Echo—“_

_“Fuck Echo,” Clarke snaps. “She lied. Now shut up and listen.”_

_Lexa startles into silence and even Clarke is taken aback by her sudden show of confidence. But she recovers, refusing to lose Lexa over something so trivial. “Are you listening?”_

_Lexa nods._

_“Good. I don’t know what Echo said to you, but whatever it was, she certainly didn’t hear it from me, and—no, hold on. You said you were listening.”_

_Lexa closes her mouth with a huff._

_“I didn’t not want to go to prom with you, Lex. I just knew how much you hate that kind of thing, and I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it and make you feel like you had to ask. But honestly, Lexa, I wanted to DIE waiting for you to ask me. Do you know I was the only freshman there? I know that’s stupid and petty, but it made feel good, because I was a freshman going to prom with the most gorgeous junior in school and I felt fucking awesome. You make me feel awesome, Lexa. I know that sounds lame, but…I don’t know I to explain it. It just felt really good to be there. To be there and be yours. Do you get that? I’m yours Lexa. And nothing else is more important to me than that.”_

_“But you acted like you didn’t want me there,” Lexa says, voice small._

_“I didn’t mean to, Lex. I really didn’t. I’m so sorry if I made you feel that way. You were sitting down at our table most of the time. I thought you were happy to watch. You didn’t want to dance when I asked.”_

_“Echo said I was your latest charity case. First Finn, then me. I thought you were embarrassed and just asked me to dance to be nice.”_

_“When exactly did Echo talk to you?”_

_Lexa shrugs. “Like before. I don’t know. We were getting out of the limo.”_

_Clarke groans, rubbing her forehead. “Is that why you were acting so sullen? I thought you just didn’t want to be there. Lexa, look at me.”_

_She places her hands on Lexa’s cheek and squeezes briefly. “Echo doesn’t know what she’s talking about. You’re not a charity case. You’re the most amazing girl I know and I can’t believe you’re going out with me. I mean honestly, you’re such an ego boost you have no idea.”_

_Lexa cracks a small smile and Clarke leans in quickly to kiss it, ever enamored by that look. They’re both blushing when Clarke pulls back, heart pounding, still not quite used to being able to do that._

_“I would dance with you, every song, every minute, in front of a whole football stadium, if you let me. I’m so proud to be your date, Lex. Did you see Nylah when you walked in? She was practically drooling. I almost slapped her, because you’re mine, and only I get to drool over you.”_

_“I don’t think that look was for me, Clarke. You were standing right behind me.”_

_Clarke shakes her head. “No, it was for you, trust me. She’s got a thing for chicks in suits.” Clarke wraps the jacket around her shoulders tighter and breathes in the faint smell of Lexa’s perfume. Woody and spicy. “So do I,” she admits and grins._

_Lexa bumps into Clarke’s shoulder and sighs. “I’m sorry.”_

_Clarke leans her head on Lexa and holds her hand.  “One of these days you’re gonna believe me when I say you’re my entire world.”_

_“I’m not used to being anybody’s anything,” Lexa murmurs._

_“Well.” Clarke stands and draws Lexa up. “You’re my everything. And I want to dance with you.”_

_“You wanna head back?”_

_Clarke shakes her head and wanders over to Lexa’s truck. She throws the door open and turns the key in the ignition enough to power up the radio. Turning in to something a little less crackily then the others, she turns up the volume and flicks on the headlights._

_She holds out her hand and Lexa takes it, grinning. “Dance with me?”_

_“You’re a dork,” Lexa mutters, but her eyes are wide and adoring as she pulls Clarke into her chest_

_“But I’m your dork,” Clarke retorts and lays her head on Lexa’s shoulder. “Forever and ever.”_

_“You sure about that?”_

_Clarke nods. “Yeah.”_

_//_

Clarke reaches over and squeezes Lexa’s thigh. “I’m still your dork,” she whispers, smiling. “Just slightly better dressed.”

 

“Well, you did say forever.” Lexa looks back at her and grins. “And I don’t know what you’re talking about. You were totally working that dress and Ugg combo.”

 

Clarke smacks her on the arm and laughs. “Don’t make fun of me. The nineties were a confusing time for everyone. And it was cold that night.”

 

Lexa stares lovingly, reminiscent, until Clarke goes shy and averts her gaze, fingers twiddling in her lap. “So do you wanna get out?”

 

“Yeah. Stay put.”

 

Before she can ask, Lexa is out and jogging around the car to open her door. She’s got a big, cheesy grin on her face when she sweeps it open and holds out her hand. “Shall we dance?”

 

Clarke chuckles. “We shall.”

 

//

 

They move quietly together, slow and easy with no real motivations other than to be close. Clarke is warm under Lexa’s jacket and against her chest, listening to the steady thrum of Lexa’s heart as it almost matches the song.

 

Lexa is decidedly more coordinated than she once was those ten odd years ago with Clarke and her Uggs wrapped up in her arms. But when she runs her hand up Clarke’s back as her wife nuzzles closer, Clarke thinks she’s never been more familiar.

 

Clarke presses her nose to her wife’s chest and breathes. “You smell good,” she murmurs.

 

Lexa hums, continues her swaying, too content to draw the energy to muster words.

 

“We’re gonna be okay right?” Clarke props her chin on Lexa and gazes up at her. Those wide, blue eyes. They make Lexa’s lungs ache.  

 

Lexa nods. Then, for emphasis, “yeah,” she whispers. “We’re gonna be more than okay.”

 

Clarke slides her hands up Lexa’s ribs, then over her shoulders and up her neck. She gently maps out Lexa’s jawline with the pads of her fingers, feather-light touches just for the sake of touch. “I love you, Lex. I always have.”

 

Biting her cheek because she’s tired of crying, Lexa uses her hands on Clarke’s hip to drag her wife up to her toes, drawing her lips closer and closer. Clarke smiles and Lexa bends to kiss it away, soft and timid, so much like their first time. As Clarke’s hand drops to grip Lexa’s collar and pull her closer, her fingers remember the feeling of Lexa’s thick, red hoody in her fist. The way the late night mist had made it damp to the touch as they sat in the middle of the lit-up soccer field and kissed for that first time.

 

//

 

_“Better?” Clarke whispers, breathless, as she pulls away from Lexa’s soft, pink lips._

_The stunned girl nods as her tongue sneaks out to explore the foreign, but amazing, new taste on her bottom lip._

_With her pupils still blown wide and hair in frizzy ringlets framing her face, Clarke thinks Lexa is the most gorgeous creature she’s ever seen._

_“You kissed me,” Lexa murmurs, just to hear it. To make sure it’s real._

_Clarke grins and nods. She nervously plays with her hair, tucking it behind her ear and averting her gaze._

_“If I’d known punching Murphy in the face would get me kissed I would have done it last quarter.”_

_Clarke is so surprised by Lexa’s humor she almost doesn’t react. But then, looking at this magical, mysterious girl in front of her, so rarely stationary and always quiet, Clarke falls so hard her chest aches, and she laughs until she’s crying._

_Lexa marvels right back at her, enjoying the site of her pink nose and hair sprinkled with tiny water droplets, laughing until her eyes sparkle. Surrounded by the mist rising up around them, encircling them in their own perfect shroud, Lexa swallows every rational thought telling her to run, and lurches forward. She grabs Clarke’s cheeks and does her best to taste the sound of Clarke’s laugh._

_//_

Clarke tugs on Lexa’s collar, pulling her invariably closer until she’s pressing so adamantly she can no longer breathe.  When Lexa’s hand slides into her dress through the back, gripping and tugging at her bare ribs, the feeling of skin on skin brings tears to her eyes.

 

A watery mewl slips pat her lips as Lexa’s uses her other hand to thread into her hair and hold her, a possessive and protective embrace she hasn’t had in so long she’d almost forgotten what it feels like.

 

Clarke pushes her hips forward, wanting the contact. Wanting Lexa. Wanting to _be_ Lexa’s again. Her body flushes from head to toe, arousal and love and hope heating her from the inside out until she wants to claw out of her dress. Lexa slides her jacket off of Clarke and drapes it over her shoulder to get it out of the way before scooping Clarke up.

 

Clarke doesn’t kiss her as she’s carried to the car, wanting to gaze at her. Take her all in with her glassy, green eyes and swollen pink lips. Clarke lives for Lexa like this. When she’s soft and wide open for Clarke, all of her hard edges and defenses melting away into a reverence Clarke has never quite understood but loves none the less.

 

Lexa lowers her to the hood of the car, chuckling slightly when Clarke hisses at the cold buries her face in the crook of her neck.

 

Her heartbeat ramps up and startles her breath when Lexa presses between her legs, firm and warm and translucent in her desire. Her mouth waters while her throat goes dry and adolescent sort of excitement runs through her because this isn’t familiar anymore. It’s exciting and new and filled with implications that have Clarke vibrating with nerves and anticipation.

 

Because Lexa wanted to wait. With her sweet gentleness, Lexa had wanted to wait until they were okay. Until Clarke knew, without a doubt, that Lexa loved her and was in it, that Lexa had forgiven her. That Lexa had been forgiven. Lexa, ever the sweetheart, had wanted it to be special and magical and romantic. Just like it’d been the first time. Just like it’d been every time.

 

Clarke barely hears the moan trickles into Lexa’s mouth—

 

But then Lexa is pulling away, panting and shaking her head because she can’t find words just yet, but she knows they need to stop.

 

She pulls away and holds Clarke’s cheeks and licks her lips, so beautiful and frazzled and unsure.

 

“Lex?”

 

“Not like this,” she pants, “not yet.”  She stares at Clarke, trying to implore more meaning than she can muster in words. Trying to not offend, trying to love, trying to take care, trying—

 

“Oh.”

 

And failing.

 

“I’m sorry, I just…”

 

“You don’t want to.”

 

“No, it’s not that. I want to. I do. God, I miss you. It’s just…” Lexa’s words die out because…because what is it exactly? Is it fear? Is it trust or anger or disinterest?

 

Clarke shifts uncomfortably atop the car and works the straps of her dress back onto her shoulders. She’s exposed and vulnerable and self-conscious trapped between the hood and Lexa’s strong thighs. Lexa who can’t even look at her. _Won’t_ look at her.

 

“Can I just—“ Clarke gently pushes on her chest, “get down,” she says making room for herself and sliding down from the car. Her anger grows the longer Lexa is silent until she’s mad enough to roughly push past Lexa in search of her discarded heels.

 

But Lexa grabs her forearm and hauls her back, apologies sputtering out of her before Clarke is even in front of her again. Clarke frowns, upset and confused and feeling like a fool.

 

But then Lexa steps into her space and wraps around her, hugging her. Just hugging her. Like they’d done so often in their early years. Just being together, being close. Intimate through proximity and tenderness alone, blocking out all of the darkness. The bullies for Lexa, Jake’s death for Clarke. They’d spent so many of their first years wrapped up like this. Soft and warm and together, alone against the world as they always said.

 

“Lex,” Clarke breathes, giving in and melting against her wife.

 

“I’m sorry,” Lexa whispers. “I’m sorry, I’m just…I’m so _worried.”_

“Why?”

Lexa pulls her closer, perhaps anticipating Clarke to pull away at her admission. For her part, Clarke runs her hands in assurance up Lexa’s long back, scratching between her shoulder blades the way she loves it.

 

“I’m worries that maybe you…maybe there’s still a small part of you that doesn’t believe me. I’m worried that there’s still a part of you that sees me cheating on you and I’m scared that if you do, and we sleep together, that…” she pauses, her broad shoulders shrugging and stooping.

 

Clarke pulls back and takes Lexa’ face in her hands. Her eyes flick across Lexa’s face like a pinball machine, trying to discern the answers in the lines of worry there. When Lexa doesn’t continue, just stares back at her with those emotive, transparent eyes, Clarke kisses her on the chin to see her smile and prompts her. “You’re worried that what? It’s okay, Lex, just talk to me. You’re worth it,” she adds, offering a small smile, “I want to hear what you have to say.”

 

Lexa considers.

 

“Please?”

 

“It will upset you.”

 

Clarke shakes her head, though she can’t be sure. She just trusts that Lexa will be gentle with her.

 

“I’m scared that if you still don’t fully trust me again…and you’re still seeing those images of me with another woman…that if we sleep together now, you’ll be...I don’t know.”

 

“What?” Clarke prompts gently.

 

“…disgusted.” Lexa’s hands find their way back to Clarke’s hips and settle.

 

“Oh sweetheart,” Clarke lifts Lexa’s chin and frowns sympathetically. “I could never be disgusted.”

 

“It’s just always been so good with us. From our first time to the last time, being with you… _making love_ to you—“ Lexa swallows, shaking her head as if to shake the emotions away. “It’s the best thing in the world,” she whispers, tight and hoarse. “I really don’t wanna mess that up…”

 

Clarke nods, drawing Lexa in for a quick kiss. “For the record, I do trust you. I do. I believe 100% that Echo and Nylah set the whole thing up and that you’ve never so much as looked at another woman. I trust you, Lexa. But, we’ll wait. We’ll wait until you’re sure, okay?”

 

“You don’t mind?”

 

Clarke looks down and smiles. She plays with the exposed patch of skin on Lexa’s chest from where she’d ripped the buttons of her shirt open. “I want you, don’t get me wrong.” She smooths the fabric down and pulls it back together. “But I’d wait forever if you needed me to.”

 

Lexa releases a thousand breaths worth of relief and slumps against her wife, nodding. “You know I want you too, right? Like…so much,” she says, chuckling.

 

Clarke chuckles too and nods. “Should we go home?”

 

“Were you sufficiently wined and dined?”

 

Smiling, Clarke pats Lexa on the butt and pushes her back upright. “Consider me satisfied.”

 

//

 

They’re quiet on the way home, but it’s an easy quiet. Stemming from comfort and familiarity.

 

As they cross back over into New York, Lexa takes Clarke’s hand into her lap and sighs.

 

So in love with you, Clarke thinks. “I’m so in love with you,” she says a second later, almost by accident.

 

Lexa just smiles and kisses her hand.


	40. The Rain Can Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: clarke and lexa meet for the first time in the middle of a storm. they are drenched, trying to find shelter and run into each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not exactly what was asked, but close enough.

The sky had been begging for it all day. Dark, thick clouds hung low over everything, casting shadows and cooling the air enough to bring out jackets and hats and even some gloves.

The only downfall of a Mid West fall was the endless days of cold, heavy rain that pulled the colorful leaves from the trees and pounded them into the ground until there was no grass left to be seen.

Lexa loved the Fall and the vivacity of life that the crisp air and incessant rains brought, but today she had been running late—a rarity that already had her annoyed and mad at everything. Which meant that she had no umbrella. Even worse, she’d left her hair down with no back-up hairband on her wrist, opting for the extra two minutes it gave her otherwise wasted on braids.

The best part of it all was that today would be the day her bike chain had decided it’d had enough of her cross-city treks to her favorite coffee shop and book store. Today would be the day it decided to slide right off the gears the second Lexa’s foot hit the pedal.

Her best option, her _only_ option, was to pull the collar of her jacket tighter around her neck and trudge onward towards the bus stop. Besides, the walk gave her time to come up with excuses for why she’d be ten minutes late to class. The reminder makes her groan and quicken her step.  

 

//

 

She can barely see the back of the bus driving away from her thanks to the fat drops of water bombarding her face and eyes, but she can see well enough to be thoroughly pissed off and in despair.

Filled with water, her boots make a taunting squishing sound as she resigns herself to walking the rest of the way, zig zagging and jogging to stay under awnings over hangs. She checks her phone.

7:55pm.

Five minutes before her night class started with at least another fifteen-minute walk. She stows her phone away, grabs onto her backpack straps and breaks into a soggy run.

 

//

 

Lexa doesn’t scare. She’s calm cool and collected.

To be fair, the thunder claps is really, _really_ loud.

So when it happens, she yelps and flinches, momentarily blind by the flash of lightening that is much too close for comfort, and nearly dives into the sheltered bus stop.

There’s another person there, a small chuckle lets her know, but she’s too distracted trying to keep her wet hair from dripping down her back to pay the person any attention.

Except then the person extends a towel.

Except, when she looks up, she’s staring at Clarke Griffin. Sopping wet and gorgeous as ever.

Which is fine. Because Lexa is calm, cool and collected.

Except Lexa has had a crush on Clarke Griffin since she sat behind her in Intro to Russian Literature sophomore year.

“Clarke, hey.”

“Oh, hi. Um…Lexa, right?”

Amazed that Clarke would remember her name a year later, all Lexa can do is nods, smile and then avert her eyes, unsure of what comes next.

“Did you want the towel?”

“Oh.” Lexa takes it, wipes her hands on it and gives it back.

“It’s clean. You can wipe your face,” Clarke chuckles.

“Oh, I didn’t want to assume—“ The words die in her throat when Clarke smiles at her again.

“No, it’s fine. Go ahead.”

“You sure?” 

With the nod, Lexa buries her face in the plush towel and nearly loses it. The damn thing smells like Clarke. Fresh and clean and soft. If soft had a smell. She tries not to groan and takes a little more care than necessary wiping off her face, drawing it out as long as she can. Both, because it’s nice, and because when she looks up again, she’ll have no idea what to say.

“I can’t believe how hard it’s coming down.”

Lexa forces herself out of the towel and nods weakly, handing the towel back.

“You’re drenched, keep it.”

“So are you.”

“Yeah, but you look significantly colder than I do. Here.” Clarke takes the towel and wraps it around Lexa’s shoulders with another one of those smiles that makes Lexa’s stomach flip.

“Can I ask why you had a towel with you?” 

“I was headed to the gym to swim and then lost the motivation when it started pissing out. She looks around wide-eyed as the rain pounds down around them, the two of them the sole wanders crazy enough to be outside. “This is insane.” 

Lexa hums, glaring at the discoloration of her boots thanks to the god awful water swirling around the sidewalk.

“So what’ve you been up to since Russian Lit?”

“Me?”

Clarke chuckles, looks around. “No, I was asking the guy behind you.”

Lexa glances behind herself and blushes before turning back around to a grinning Clarke. “You were joking…”

Clarke smiles so wide Lexa’s knees go numbs and her throat goes dry at the pure radiance of it on Clarke’s face. “Yeah, I was joking joking. So how’ve you been? Still embarrassing lit majors by knowing more than them?”

Lexa tints pink again and shakes her head with a quiet, single huff of laughter. “No, just myself.”

“I don’t believe that. Someone as smart as you…couldn’t possibly embarrass easily.”

“I’m embarrassed now.”

“Really? Why?” 

“I’m not good at…talking to pretty girls.”  Lexa’s heart pounds in her chest as the confession hangs between them like the condensation puffing out of her mouth. Somehow, somewhere, she’d gotten the confidence to admit that to Clarke, but now, per usual, it’s no where to be found and she thinks she might be close to passing out.

Clarke takes a step closer to her and reaches out to play with the corner of the towel hanging near Lexa’s hip. “I don’t know, that was pretty good, I think,” she says quietly.

Lexa can barely hear it over the sound of her heart beat pounding away as if it’s trying to compete with the rain to be the loudest.

“Were you heading somewhere before?”

Lexa manages to look up at her, momentarily left behind by Clarke’s last statement. Clarke smiles at her and it makes it even harder to come up with words. She wishes she could tell her to stop. “Um. I had class.”

“Are you still planning on going?”

Lexa pulls out her phone.

8:07pm.

“Probably not.” Her stomach flips both nervously and excitedly. She’d never skipped a class before. Without Clarke standing there, looking at her with those _freakign_ eyes, she’d probably be mortified at the sheer idea of it.

“Grounder’s is close. If you maybe want to go grab something hot?”

Lexa grimaces down at herself. “I don’t know. I’m soaked…”

“Right, totally.”

“But maybe…you could come by my place if you want. If it’s closer than yours or wherever you were going.”

Clarke considers, and Lexa really likes the look of it on her. “Are you close?”

“A couple blocks south, one east. Near the Dempster stop.”

“Why didn’t you just take the train in?”

Lexa smiles sheepishly. “No money on my Ventra card.”

Clarke laughs, shaking her head. “I feel that. You don’t mind if I come over?”

“Not at all,” she says a little too quickly. “I don’t have any plans.”

“Just to skip class.”

“Don’t remind me.” 

“First time?”

Lexa nods, looking apologetic as if Clarke is her professor and will be offended by her absence.

“Could’ve called that one from a mile away.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You’re a nerd.”

 Lexa ducks her head again.

“Come on.” Clarke grabs her hand and pulls her towards the curb. “I like nerds.”

 

//

 

“Wow…you’re like really clean.”

Lexa scratches at her neck as she shuts the door behind them and locks it. “Yeah I mean. I try. I go a little nuts if I don’t. Living room’s to the left.”

“Do you maybe have a towel? I don’t wanna drip on your floors.”

“Oh sure.” Lexa feels funny being asked for a towel given that she’s wearing Clarke’s, but then again, it gives her a moment away from the stunning girl to collect herself.

Lexa sticks her head inside the hallway closet and counts to five. ‘Oh my god,’ she mouthes, clenching her eyes shut and bouncing on her toes. “You can do this. You can do this. She’s just a girl.”

“Hey Lexa?”

Lexa pulls her head out of the closet and calls back to her. “Yeah?”

“Mind if I grab a glass of water?”

“Oh sure. Glasses are in the cupboard to the right of the fridge. You’re welcome to any food too.”

There’s a pause and then a chuckle. “Yeah, I think I’m gonna pass on the fridge full of vegetable.”

Lexa finds her in the kitchen, hands wrapped around a steaming mug.

“I used your microwave. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I’ve got tea…”

Clarke looks down into the cup and Lexa’s scans it, hoping it’s not one of her more embarrassing mugs like the Barbie themed one from her niece. It’s not, thank god.

“Have any herbal tea?”

Lexa smiles. Tea is her forte. She can do tea. “That’s the only kind I have.”

“Of course it is.”

Lexa grabs a large wooden box off the top of the fridge and sets it down on the counter, opening it to reveal packets upon packets of tea all sorted out into their own compartments. “Take your pick.”

“Oh wow. Um…I don’t know, what your favorite?”

Lexa looks over the contents, playing each flavor in her head, and wondering what impression it’d leave on Clarke. What it’d say about Lexa. She reaches for one, then draws back, unsure. She glances over at Clarke, but the way she’s looking at her makes her squirm, so she focuses back on the tea bags. “What do you like?”

“Oh anything,” Clarke says noncommittally.

Lexa grabs a packet and hands it to her, sighing as if she’s just given her final answer on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire. “Lavender infused Jasmine.”  

Clarke smiles. “Sounds amazing.”

“Want any honey? Or stevia…I like stevia in mine.”

“Stevia?”

“It’s an herbal sweetner.”

Clarke gives her that smile again. “Of course it is.”

Lexa tingles delightedly, again finding her shoes quite fascinating.

“I’m good on the sweetner. But maybe some mile?”

“Oh sure. It’s in the fridge, help yourself. I think I’m gonna go put some dry clothes on. Would you like any? We’re about the same size.”

“You’re just a great deal more fit.”

God what Lexa wouldn’t give to disappear into her bed and squeal into her pillow like a moron. Instead she chuckles and shakes her head because it’s polite and she’s a gentleman. Gentlewoman. “No, you’re…you look great.”

“That’s sweet.”

“It’s true.” _Enough._ Lexa scolds herself mentally and shuffles backwards out of the room before Clarke can say anything more. But then she remembers…she pokes her head around the living room wall back into the kitchen. “Sorry, did you want some dry clothes?”

Clarke looks at herself, then to Lexa. “That’d be great.”

“Cool. I’ve got a heater in the living room next to the couch if you want. I’ll be right back.”

 

//

 

Clarke in Lexa’s clothes had been a mistake. Clarke in Lexa’s practice shorts an even bigger mistake.

“I don’t think I knew you were on the soccer team,” Clarke says looking at the number on the shorts. Lexa’s looks at it too feeling weird and possessive and _into_ it.

“I try not to advertise it. Too many associations.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, like, you know. Stereotypical jock who is dumb and doesn’t care about school. Communications major who takes the minimum credits in easy A classes and is usually a total douche bag.”

“I prefer douche canoe.”

Lexa grins. “Yeah, well.”

“Well you’re certainly not any of those I’ll give you that.”

Unsure of what that means, but hoping it’s a compliment, she smiles to herself and continues to flip through the channels on her TV, hoping for something good and distracting.

“I can’t believe it’s still coming down,” Clarke murmurs, shifting on the couch to look out the window behind them. It makes her shirt ride up to reveal a soft, round hip. For the first time in her life, Lexa has the overwhelming urge to suck on it.

Not a hickey person, _never_ a hickey person, the thought startles her into looking away, praying that Clarke hadn’t noticed her staring. How could she have, though? She had been busy looking out the window. It was only Lexa who had taken the opportunity to look elsewhere.

“Weather channel says it’ll go through the night and into tomorrow,” she says, clearing her throat and attempting to clear her mind.

“Oh. Bummer,” Clarke says, though somehow there’s something not quite convincing about it.

 

//

 

In the two hours that have passed since finding their way to the couch, Lexa has learned two things about Clarke.

1.     She has no sense of personal space.

2.     She is touchy.

With Clarke’s head relaxed and heavy on her shoulder, Lexa’s not sure when she’d breathed last, but given the heat flushing through her body, her racing heartbeat and the dizziness in her head, it was safe to assume it’d been a while. 

Her back aches from being held still and rigid, anything to keep Clarke from moving, and she can’t feel her thigh where Clarke’s is draped over it. But it’s fine. It’s all fine. As long as Clarke doesn’t move, she could handle it.

“You smell nice,” Clarke suddenly says, shifting closer to Lexa’s neck and nuzzling ever so slightly.

Oh god.

Lexa gulps. “Thanks.” It comes out like a squeaky question because her heart is in her throat and her air is anywhere but her lungs.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Lexa can feel the question on her neck, tickling her skin. She wonders if Clarke can see how red she is. She nods.

“I think you’re so cute,” Clarke whispers. “Always have.”

Lexa twitches involuntarily has her heart gets even faster. “You do?”

Clarke nods and nuzzles closer. “Mhm. I’ve thought about you a lot since Russian Lit.”

“You have?”

Clarke chuckles and pulls back to look at her. Lexa is relieved to see a matching blush and shy eyes. “Yeah…what do you think about that?”

“I think—I think that’s great. That’s—are you sure?”

 

//

 

“Does this feel more sure?” Clarke asks, breathy and mostly a gasp.

Lexa is too busy kissing a trail up Clarke’s neck to answer. Instead, she pushes her hips into Clarke’s and nips at her jaw, grinning and bolstering at the moan that she elicits.

 

//

 

“Holy shit, Lex—“ Lexa watches in awe as Clarke reacts to Lexa pushing a finger inside her, then another when she finds her lose and slick.

She collapses down on top of her, moving off to the side slightly to avoid crushing her. But she wants to be close. Wants to make sure this actually happening. That Clarke is actually kissing her in between making little whimpers. That Clarke is whispering her name every time she pushes in a certain way.

“You’re good at this,” Clarke whispers. “Lots of practice?”

She can tell Clarke tries to pass if off as a joke, but she hears the worry in her voice. It’s the same worry she’d had when Clarke had been so comfortable with this—as if she’d had lots of experience.

Lexa can’t tell her the truth because that’d be embarrassing. Telling Clarke that she’d done lots of reading to make sure she was still good at it after not having been with anyone for a while wasn’t exactly a turn on. But she could at least reassure her. “No.” She kisses her gently. “Just a natural.”  

Clarke chuckles with her eyes closed and her lips parted in pleasure, her tongue coming out lick at her dry bottom lip. The sight spurs something low in Lexa’s stomach—something an awful lot like the familiar tingle of a budding orgasm. She grinds herself down on Clarke’s thigh and moans at the sharp, delicious twinge of pleasure that confirms her suspicions.

She’s close. Judging by the scrunching of Clarke’s face and the rapidity of her breath, so is she.

 

//

 

“Can I ask you something?” Clarke twirls patterns into her sweaty chest with her finger, something so simple, but so beautiful to Lexa. Clarke is soft and sweet, nothing like she expected given the snarky comments and vivacious attitude she’d shown in their class. She’s touchy, yes, but Lexa had come to realize that’s just how Clarke communicated her feelings. While Lexa was eloquent with her words, Clarke could do the most amazing things with her gestures.

Like give Lexa heart palpitations with the simple brushing of her finger tips. She kisses Clarke’s head and pulls her farther onto her chest, loving that she could hold her like this. “Sure.”

“What is this? Like is this a one time kind of deal or…”

Lexa waits for the rest of the ‘or’ but it never comes. “I mean…do you want it to be?”

“What? A one time thing?”

Lexa nods. 

Clarke’s fingers still and immediately Lexa misses it. “Not really…”

Lexa smiles with relief and squeezes around Clarke, nearly squealing. “Good, me neither.”

Clarke chuckles and her fingers start up again. “So do you wanna maybe go on a date then? Like when it stops raining?”

“Can we keep doing this until then?”

Clarke pushes up to grin down at her. “Oh definitely.”


	41. Action!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: actress Clexa. With "OMG Lexa ! Babe, sorry, did I slap you too hard ?!?" After they just finished a scene. And an angry red mark + very clear hand print on Lexa's cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sides - script pages being shot that day aka impossible to find scenes on. 
> 
> PA- production assistant aka the production’s coffee bitch
> 
> 1st AD- first assistant director aka the bossy one who’s always stressed
> 
> Gaffer- head of electrician/lighting department on set aka the guy with the beard. 
> 
> 2nd AD- second assistant director aka no one really knows what they do
> 
> Slate - a clapboard with the time code and take/scene name/label to help in editing aka the think that one guys slams closed before “action!” 
> 
> “Lock it up” - secure the set aka PA’s run around like chicken’s with their heads cut off telling people to shut up
> 
> “Pictures up” - camera is rolling aka time to settle the fuck down
> 
> Martini shot - last shot of the day aka thank fucking god I can leave and go to sleep.

“I literally hate this.”

 

“I know,” Lexa mutters, going over her lines.

 

“Like I actually hate this.”

 

Lexa looks up from her sides from the couch in Clarke’s trailer, smirking ever so slightly.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“That’s not nothing. That’s smirk’s not nothing.”

 

“I just think it’s funny how concerned you are about it. It’s not like you haven’t done it before.”

 

Clarke’s pacing stills. “Hey. That was a long time ago and I was drunk. And I felt sick about it for months.”

 

Lexa shrugs and returns to her sides. “It’s not that big of a deal, babe. Post will do most of the work, you won’t even have to hit that hard.”

 

//

 

“Harder!”

 

Clarke looks around set in disbelief, searching for a commiserating glance or some producer to step in and cut off the tyrannical director. She meets the 1st AD’s eyes and beckons him over.

 

“I’m not comfortable hitting her any harder.”

 

“Okay…well, do you want a stand-in?”

 

“For me or Lex?”

 

“For you. Lexa has to ask for her own stand in.”

 

Clarke scoffs. “No, that’s not the issue. I don’t want _anyone_ hitting her as hard as he wants it.”

 

“Clarke, really it’s fine—“

 

“No, Lex. Hush.” She turns to the AD. “Can you talk to him? Or I’ll go there.”

 

The AD sighs and gets on his walkie, leaving Clarke to get a good look at Lexa. “You’re already turning red.”

 

“Just because it’s cold.”

 

Clarke scowls. “Don’t lie to me.”

 

Lexa stretches and flags down a PA for water, sharing a quick laugh with something one of the gaffers says.

 

“Lex,” Clarke snaps, drawing her back. “This is important.”

 

“Look, Clarke, I don’t know what you want to do? He’s not going to back down, we’re wasting time. I’d like to get out of here in under five takes if we can help it.”

 

“That was the sixth take.”

 

“That explains the numbness.”

 

“Lexa!”

 

Lexa chuckles, shaking her head. “Clarke, I’m kidding.”

 

“Hey—“ the AD walks back in, interrupting. “He says you can get a stand-in for this angle, but that’s it. We need to get rolling.”

 

“Can’t we just VFX this?”

 

“Unnecessary cost,” is all the man offers. “Alright, let’s get going,” he shouts. “Lock it up!”

 

“Just do it, Clarke. You’re better than this," Lexa states, aloof and unaffected.

 

“This has nothing to do with my skill level,” Clarke snaps. 

 

“A professional would just get her job done.”

 

Clarke balks. “Excuse me?”

 

“You’re wasting time and money. Just get the shot done and call it a day.”

 

“Wow, okay—“

 

“Rolling! Picture’s up!” The AD shouts, ignoring them.

 

“Lexa,” Clarke hisses.

 

“Shh. Picture’s up,” Lexa goads.

 

Before Clarke can retort, a man steps between them with the slate and calls the shot, effectively ending their conversation.

 

Clarke glares while the camera sets, annoyed and unnerved by the condescension her girlfriend had just displayed in front of an entire production crew.

 

She speaks through her lines almost blindly, not really hearing any of it until the slap comes up. Lexa says her line and something unexpected just comes over...

 

“Cut!”

 

Clarke freezes, eyes wide as the entire set crew remains still and quiet, staring at them.

 

“That’s the shot! That’s our martini shot, thanks guys!” The director yells and slowly, people start to clap.

 

But Clarke’s eyes are glued to Lexa whose eyes are just as wide and stuck. “Oh my god,” she murmurs. “Oh my god! Babe, are you okay?” She rushes into Lexa’s space, taking her cheeks in her hands. She tilts her head and gasps at the large, red hand print fully formed on her porcelain skin. “Holy shit, Lex—“

 

Lexa, slowly coming out of her shock, starts to grin.

 

“Why are you grinning, you crazy nut?! I smacked you so hard!”

 

Lexa chuckles. “I knew you had it in you.”

 

Clarke gapes. “You were goading me.”

 

“Of course I was. I’d never actually talk to you like that for real.”

 

Clarke looks around, anxiously. “Hey,” she grabs the 2nd AD, “can we get her some ice or something?”

 

Lexa grabs Clarke’s chin and focuses her attention. “Hey.”

 

“Lex, I’m so—“

 

“Shh, it’s fine. You did your job. And that shot’s gonna look sick.”

 

“Watch them cut the scene.”

 

“They better fucking not,” Lexa laughs.

 

“I literally hated that.”

 

Lexa grins. “I know.”


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little headcannon that hit me in which Lexa finally hands the delinquents their asses for constantly pissing on Clarke.

"Lexa doesn't get to come here and tell us how to run things," Raven spits, glaring at the Commander and her small party."

"She trying to help, Rae, let it go." Octavia steps between them, always somehow stuck in the middle of the two cultures.

Clarke joins Octavia, putting herself in the line of fire despite Lexa's efforts to keep her out of it. "The Commander has had years of experience sustaining life and peaceful relations between the clans. If she says we need to consider bringing down Arkadia's wall now that there is peace then we need to consider it. She's right. It sends out the wrong message to the rest of the clans."

"If walls are so bad, tell us why her precious capital is surrounded by them? Or maybe you conveniently forget things like that when it means you get a safe, warm bed to sleep in every night," Raven snaps, hard and intent on shaming.

Clarke swallows, torn between angry and hurt. "The capital is home to our political meetings and--"

"You don't have to explain to them, Clarke," Lexa cuts in. "They know full well while Polis is walled. They also know that it is the ONLY village that is walled. Raven's excuse is flimsy just as Skaikru's relations with the coalition is."

"That's cute," Raven sneers.

"Raven, stop. We both know that this isn't about the walls. What--"

"No you're right," Raven growls, "this is about you and your precious commander running around making decisions for everyone without bothering to ask what we want. This is about you and your self appointed authority that has caused nothing but problems and death since we've landed in this hell hole! I am sick of playing your games, Clarke!"

"Raven, that's not--" Clarke starts, eyes watering.

"You don't get to decide anymore, Clarke! You left skaikru. You had your war and you played your little game with us as your pawns and then you went off to Polis with your precious commander. You're done calling the shots, Clarke. We're sick--"

"Enough!" Lexa shouts, so loud, so fierce it makes everyone jump. Without hesitation, she steps into Raven's space, a snarl on her face. "You are alive! Is that not enough for you, Raven kom Skaikru? Do Clarke's constant former efforts to keep you and your friends out of trouble mean nothing to you, you selfish, worthless branwada!" Lexa seethes, stepping even closer.

Raven visibly flinches, though, bravely, perhaps stupidly, she does not back down. "We never asked Clarke to do any of that. She went off galavanting around wherever, whenever she wanted, making decisions without asking any of us--"

"She kept you alive, sky girl," Indra spits, joining in behind Lexa and Clarke, hand on the hilt of her sword.

"We could have kept ourselves alive--"

Another step, Lexa is inches away from Raven's face. "I would have killed you as soon as your feet hit my earth if it weren't for Clarke's constant bids for your life," Lexa growls, low and menacing. She glares around at the delinquents behind Raven, eyes settling on each and every one of them long enough to make them cower. "You may not like how she did it. You make not like that she did not consult you on every single decision she had to make every minute of the day. But you must acknowledge that you are alive because of Clarke's decisions. You are a violent and impulsive people. You have no respect for the earth or her inhabitants. You stomp around with your skaikru weapons, cursing everything that does not yield to your every selfish, indulgent desires. As a clan you are abrasive and narrow-minded. You are slow to assimilate, slow to learn the traditions of the other clans. You show no desire to mingle or learn and you take more than you give. And Prince Roan of Azged tells me that just last week your council offended the Azgeda trading delegation sent to prepare you for the coming winter."

"The Azgeda destroyed Mount Weather," Bellamy snaps. "They tried to have you dethroned and destroy the coalition that included Skaikru as the thirteenth clan! We don't want to trade with them."

"I don't care what you want!" Lexa roars. "I am your Commander and you will do as I say! Skaikru was welcomed back into the coalition under the conditions that you would trade openly and amicably with every clan of the coalition for one year to learn their ways. The Azgeda have paid for their crimes. They are every bit a welcomed member of the coalition as you are, and if you wish to survive this winter, I suggest that you attempt to get that through your head!"

"What's going on?" A new, firm voice cuts in, and everyone turns to see Kane staring wide-eyed at the small group, all puffed up and haughty, lingering in Arkadia's courtyard.

"These branwada have disrespected the Commander," Indra states, icily smooth.

"Commander, can I speak with you alone, please?" Kane asks, voice calm and diplomatic.

Lexa stands fast, jaw rigid and eyes locked on the delinquents like she wants nothing more than to rip them apart. But Clarke's gentle hand on her forearm makes her reconsider. She looks to Kane, his soft eyes and small smile calming her enough agree to step off to the side with him.

"What is the problem, Lexa? How can I help?"

"Your people are strong and beneficial additions to the coalition, Kane, and I appreciate what Skaikru has contributed so far. However, there are some among you--" she gives a pointed look to the group close by-- "that continue to disregard the work that it took to get you here. I am tired of hearing Skaikru blame their problems on Clarke. Not only is it foolish, but it is cruel, and I will not have it. As my guest in Polis, absolved from her role as Skaikru ambassador, Clarke no longer owes anything to her people. If Skaikru have questions or complaints with the way they are being treated or the way decisions are affecting them, they may approach me through their ambassador like every other clan, is that understood?"

Kane, embarrassed and throughly reprimanded, dips his head in acquiescence. "I will speak with them. Has Clarke expressed to you that this hurts her? Just out of my own, personal affection for her...as a sort of daughter-figure...I would like to speak with her if this is something she has expressed this pains her."

"No. Clarke is selfless as usual and refuses to speak ill of her so-called friends. But I can see how their words cut her. She is always dark and burdened when she returns from her visits to Arkadia. Her shoulders slump and she spends the nights fretting over concerns that are not hers to bear. Your people have no regard for her feelings or her needs, content to question and criticize her every decision, yet happy to demand she solve their every problem. Clarke has done her part. The war is over, we have peace. Thanks to Clarke, jus drein jus daun is no longer the answer to our problems. It is time Skaikru let's go of their hold over their former ambassador. Clarke deserves the same peace her people now abundantly enjoy."

"I agree," Kane says calmly, "I will make sure I speak with them."

//

"You shouldn't have done that," Clarke sighs, letting her head fall to Lexa's.

Lexa wraps her arms around Clarke's waist and pulls her close, breathing her in and letting her eyes fall shut. "I am tired of hearing them speak to you that way. They don't appreciate what you've done for them."

"I don't need them to. I just want everyone to be safe and happy."

Lexa kisses her. "You are too good for this world, hodnes. It doesn't deserve you."

Clarke's smiles and pulls away towards the bed, leading Lexa by the hand. She sinks down and pulls Lexa atop her, sighing at her weight and warmth. "I'm glad we're home," she whispers, kissing Lexa softly as her fierce commander's eyes begin to droop.

"I love you, Clarke," Lexa murmurs.

Clarke threads her fingers through Lexa's hair and holds her close, smiling. "I love you too, Lex."


	43. Three Muskateers Headcannon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Random Headcannon with a little bit of Lostia, a little bit of Clexa and a whole bunch of other stuff I'm not sure where it came from...

So I haven’t seen much of 1OO S4 but I heard through the grape vine that a replica of the flame got destroyed and also that Gaia, Indra's daughter ended up with one…idk I’m out of the loop) and all I can think, is that probably means there are a bunch of replica flames lying around. After all Lexa had one embossed on the hilt of her swords as we’ve seen. And what would be the purpose of having those made? Strategy, maybe? Maybe it’s good to have fakes around so that if someone tried to steal it’d be fake. But I can’t help but also think that maybe Lexa went around bestowing replicas of the flame to people she cared about. People under her protection.

And I’m imagining that Gaia, Indras daughter had to have some experience with the flame to be interested in becoming a flame keeper later in life which apparently she is but like I said I havent seen the episodes. So anyways I’m thinking Lexa goes around with these replica flames…maybe even in secret when she’s first becomes commander and is still young and mischievous.

And I imagine that she and Indra were close. Like we knew they were close but this would mean they were even closer, almost familial. And Lexa had an affinity for Indra’s daughter. About the same age, they probably grew up together. Imagine the three musketeers, Lexa, Costia and Gaia growing up TriKru together, always getting underfoot and climbing trees too tall for them and hunting things too big for them and just causing an overall ruckus.

And then one day Lexa gets taken away to Polis to train and Gaia and Costia make secret treks to Polis in the night, giggling and racing each other through the forest in the moonlight to meet Lexa in the market in the morning. Under scrutiny now Lexa is a little more subdued, watching her friends with a gentle smile, standing back a little, as they wander through the markets trying on turquoise beaded necklaces and testing out hand crafted knifes. Being the better marksman of them all, they hand Lexa weapon after weapon to test and sometimes people gather to watch one of the coveted night blood exercise her skill out in public. Her friends clap and cheer them on until Titus breaks the crowd up and shoes them back home.

But they always wander back and sometimes Luna, a night blood their age that Lexa promises is cool, joins them on their adventures. The four of them winding their way between the hoards of people gathered to shop and sell and trade.

They grow up together like this, scraping together time and making the most of it. Until one day Costia and Gaia are racing each other through the woods, Costia in the lead. Costia stops dead in her tracks, Gaia nearly running into her back. They stand their staring, Costia beginning to cry, Gaia clenching her jaw like she’s seen their older, stoic friend do in times of strife, gathering strength from the copied mannerism.

They can’t bring themselves to go to the conclave, instead hovering in the tree line that borders Polis. Waiting, waiting, waiting.

It feels like forever by the time word reaches them that Lexa Kom Trikru is their new commander, wise and powerful and courageous. Gaia and Costia probably collapse against each other in relief before they remember what that must mean for their dear friend Luna. One life for another, it’s better than nothing.

Their trips to Polis become less frequent as Lexa grows busier, but they have their moments. Sometimes Gaia hangs back, let’s Costia run ahead, and when she eventually breaks through the tree line she spots them, the great commander and Costia, wrapped around each other like school children. All she can do is chuckle and look away while the commander finishes kissing Costia. And then she is all over them, dropping down from a tree and scaring them both into a fit of laughter.

And then one day Lexa stops meeting them. Costia grows anxious and fidgety but when questioned she just shakes her head. “Things are brewing” is what she says when Gaia pins her to the earth floor one afternoon and demands to hear whatever glimmers of information Costia has benefited from hearing due to her closeness to Lexa.

“War,” Lexa tells them solemnly one day under a tree, eyes painted black, shoulder guard in place. “Stay close to home. Do not come to Polis anymore.” Then she pulls something out of her pocket and bestows it on the two of them. The friends’ eyes widen as they look down at the flames in their palms. “You are under my protection now,” Lexa tells them with a sad smile. She grasps their forearms one by one. “Ste yuj.”

Within weeks there is massacre everywhere. The clans feud among themselves with no mercy and there are rumors that the commander has been slain. As Gaia holds a weeping Costia at night she stares down at her flame and vows that if Lexa makes it, she will dedicate her life to becoming a flame keeper.

Lexa rises out of the ashes, triumphant and stained red. They call her Commander of the Blood, the strongest Heda they’ve ever known.

Gaia visits Polis one more time, Costia in tow. She tells Lexa of her deal she made with the Gods and bids her one last farewell before she sends away for fleimkepa training.

A year passes, maybe two. She doesn’t visit, can’t, but she keeps up with news from home as best she can. She hears of the problems up north. The growing insurgence of the Azgeda but every time she hears of this it is followed up with news of the commanders triumphs over them again and again.

Until it isn’t.

She visits for the first time in several years and the guards lead her straight up to the commanders room. She’s been asked for. When she opens the double doors she doesn’t know what she’s expecting. They echo when they close and then she is rushing to the bed, wrapping her arms around a weeping Lexa, distraught and lost and so very small. Gaia hold her until she falls asleep. She helps bathe her the next day, helps clothe her and read through reports lexa is too tired to read through. When she finally has to go back to her training at the end of the week she takes the box with her. Steeling herself, she opens the box and heartbreak follows. Next to the matted hair and the soft round cheek she used to kiss in play now littered with scars and bruises sits Costia’s flame. Gaia runs back to Lexa’s room and slides it into Lexa’s hand against her shaking head and watering eyes. “You can still keep her safe,” she whispers and Lexa takes it with shaking fingers.

Later Gaia hears of how The commander defeats the azgeda natronas with nothing but two swords powered by the flame.

She has stumbled into floudonkru land and reunited with Luna when she hears of the star that falls to the earth with people inside. Violence breaks out again and its like before the coalition. She thinks about Lexa everyday but she can’t get back, not with jus drein jus daun wreaking havoc everywhere. So she stays with Luna and she hears tales of Wanheda with eyes like the sky and hair like the sun.

And when that devastating day comes and the horns sound and the red smoke rises in the sky, Heda Leksa Kom Trikru’s gonplei ste odon, she vows to keep her promise and protect the flame. After fighting her way back to Polis she finds it around the neck of a girl with devestation in her blue eyes and memoriam braids weaved into her hair. “Wanheda,” she greets.

Clarke stares at the flame around Gaia’s neck. “You were her friend?”

Gaia nods. “And you? Commander of Death? Were you her friend?”

Clarke wraps her hand around the flame against her chest. “I loved her.”

Gaia eyes her carefully. She sees Lexa’s soft, quiet smile as they wander through the markets. Sees Costias blush as she recounts their first kiss in hushed giggles whispered into the dark. She stares at Clarke and then she nods. “She loved you too.”

“How do you know?”

Gaia smiles, taps on the flame. “Because you have that.”


	44. Berries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I was bombarded with visions of canon clexa having lunch together between meetings. Like Clarke stops by with their daughter who is a few months old so Lexa can spend time with her and feed her lunch, something like mushed up berries. Can you imagine Lexa Kom trikru, commander of the 12 clans spoon feeding a little baby? Too cute

A knock echoes through the room just when Lexa thinks she’s beginning to recenter herself. The long morning of meetings aches in her neck and sits stiff in her lower back. Her head is beginning to grow thick with thoughts and heavy with duty as she sifts through and processes the many requests made upon her and the coalition.

She does not want to answer the knock for fear of having to a face yet another ambassador with a forgotten request or an addition to a previous one, yet somehow she finds herself nodding at the guards by the door. She does not bother to look up as they swing open, instead focusing on the pair of tiny black fingerprints, like charcoal shadows, on her sash.

“Heda.” 

She looks up in time to see the bowed figure of the Ice Nation ambassador’s runner, his chest heaving with effortful breath as his knee lowers to the floor. She adjusts her grip on the arms of her throne and waits with forced patience for him to rise. She’s already running through the possibilities of what could have necessitated such a hurried return so soon after the meeting was dismissed.

She wonders if it’s yet another addendum to the land expansion request, or perhaps a follow up to the proposed bartering rate change. Perhaps they have decided they do not want to begin demilitarizing their Souther border after all, or perhaps they are tired of the educational exchange program that has seen groups of young people from every Kru sent to their land to learn the ways of the Ice Nation.

She does not miss the way her thoughts all drift towards the negative. Years of peace have done wonders to absolve Azgeda’s past penchant for treason, but history can never be forgotten. Not now, not when her people are finally safe. Not when peace is the stable norm, rather than the elusive future possibility. Lexa cannot afford the same luxury of amnesia that she has encouraged upon her people. “We move forward as one Kru,” she’d told them after the wars. “We welcome Azgeda back into the coalition with open arms and look forward to their prosperity,” she’d said.

And yet, she cannot help the set of her jaw as the young runner rises with his scars and fur-lined clothing. Not when there is so much more at stake now. Not when there is so much more to lose. She peels her gaze away from the fingerprints on her sash and stares down at him. “Ambassador Penn has sent you back so soon,” she says, not unkindly. Her head cocks to the side in an effort to decipher the unusual look on the young man’s face.

“She has.” 

“And this could not wait until next month’s meeting?” 

“Ambassador Penn has requested a moment of your time before returning to Azgeda.” 

“The Ambassador just had several moments of my time. As did all the Ambassadors.” 

“She wishes to speak with you…alone.” 

Lexa grins at the ridiculousness of the request. Her shoulders ache and her backside is numb against the hard surface of her throne. Her stomach would rumble were it not for the cup of water handed to her a moment ago, and her eyes are beginning to burn with fatigue. She has no time for Azgeda tricks. “Please tell Ambassador Penn that I will see her at the next meeting.” She begins to rise, but the man takes a large step towards her in a show of reckless bravery, or perhaps stupidity.

Lexa’s guards over take him in a moment, wrapping their large hands around his arms and dragging him back.

“Please, Heda,” he pleads, staring up at her. “Just a moment of your time.”  

 **“Bants,”**  she snaps, her irritation with the endless morning beginning to boil over. 

“Please, Heda!” His shout echoes through the hall as he is dragged further and further towards the heavy double doors. “Please, she is with child!” 

 **“Hod op!”**  She calls, decisive and clear.  **“Breik em au.”  
**

They drop him like a rag doll and he stumbles forward until he is back at the foot of her throne. “Mochof, Heda.”

“Ambassador Penn is with child?” 

The man nods, averting his eyes as if perhaps this was not his news to tell.

“And she wishes to speak with me about this? Why?”

“You are one of the few leaders in the Coalition–” 

“Of the Coalition,” Indra snaps, striding through the doors at that moment and eyeing the man daring to monopolize the Heda’s time. “The Commander is the leader of the Coalition.” 

“Em pleni, Indra. What is it?” 

“Freya is ready for you in the clearing.” 

“I haven’t eaten.” 

“She says it won’t be long.” 

Lexa barely restrains a growl and returns to the runner now shifting nervously under the presence of the infamous warrior and the aggravated Heda. “Tell her I will come in a moment.” When Indra is gone she take a deep sigh and nods at the young man. “You were saying.”

“Heda, forgive me for the intrusion on your time and the slip of my tongue. I did not mean to say that you and Ambassador Penn were equals, I simply meant–”

“A leader is a leader, young runner,” she says, cutting him off. “The responsibilities are quite the same. The scale of those responsibilities is what differs. It’d be foolish to denounce the immensity of your Ambassador’s duty.” 

The young man nods, his stance both slightly fearful and fully reverent. “Ambassador Penn is unsure, as a leader, where to start…as a  **nomon**. I believe she would like to speak with you about…well, about some advice.”

“Advice?” 

“Sha, Heda.”

“Does the Ambassador not think that  **Klinheda** would be better suited for such a request?” 

“Klinheda is not fond of the Ice Nation.” 

“Klinheda has been hurt many times by the Ice Nation. Do you fault her for her caution?”

He shakes his head, but remains steadfast before her throne. “You have two children, Heda. Two, happy, healthy children. You lead the  **Kongeda**  with wisdom and grace. Ambassador Penn is only hoping for a word or two.” 

“My word would be to have Ambassador Penn speak to Klinheda. She is a mother and an ambassador. She is a leader to her people and beloved by her children. If anyone has mastered the art of motherhood, it’s her. I’m sure you will find her around. Perhaps in the markets, near the fruit stands.” 

With that, Lexa rises, effectively dismissing any and all other inquiries or comments. She waits until the runner has bowed and exited before letting out a sonorous groan while contorting this way and that in an attempt to stretch the stiffness out of her spine. “We need to find a cushion for that rock,” she jokingly throws out offhand.

“Sha, Heda,” her lumbering guards says and immediately steps off in search of one. 

“No, I didn’t mean–” she starts to say, but he is gone too quickly and she doesn’t have the energy to call him back. 

//

Mustering the energy to try out the new sword Freya has for her doesn’t come any easier.

“It’s heavy,” she mutters, turning it over in her hand. She checks the edge of the blade, confused yet intrigued by its new shape. 

“Raven says it will do more damage with less effort.” 

Lexa gives it an effortless twirl, testing its weight again. She plunges it into the stomach of an imaginary enemy, slashes it across the throat of another. Her movements are powerful, yet graceful, natural, yet practiced.

“It it meant for the hip or the back?” 

“The hip. To replace your current one.” 

“Then the handle is too long.” 

“I told her as much. She says the length of the handle is meant to balance out the weight.” 

Lexa hums unsatisfied and hands it back to Freya. “Put it on. Jon, come here.”

The young, nightblood assistant comes shuffling forward as the sparring instructor takes her own sword out of its halter and tosses it to the ground. She slips the new one in and looks up expectantly at her Heda.

“On Jon’s start, I want you to try to beat me to the draw.”

If daunted, Freya doesn’t let it show. She simply nods and takes a step back, readying down into a stance not unlike the one Lexa takes.

“When you’re ready, Jon.”

Significantly less skilled at hiding his emotions, Jon nods nervously and raises his arm. His eyes flick back and forth between the two for a moment, a young pupil mesmerized by the perfection before him. As if forgetting for a moment what it is that he’s doing, his arm hangs frozen in the air, his eyes sweeping over the perfect lines of his teacher and his commander, the kinetic strength in their flexed muscles, the focus in their eyes.

A gentle clearing of the throat and a smirk from Lexa so small most would miss it, is what brings him out of his daze. His cheeks darken with his blush as he throws his arm down and shouts for them to begin.

It’s over before it’s even really begun. The tip of Lexa’s sword hovers just inches from Freya’s throat before the sparring instructor has even finished unsheathing her sword, and the point is made loud and clear–the sword is too heavy to be swift. However, Lexa isn’t finished. She lowers her sword and flips it, offering up the hilt.

“Heda,” Freya says, both unsure and honored to be given the opportunity to wield Lexa’s sword.

“Let’s switch. I am used to my sword, so I am at an unfair advantage.”

“No advantage, Heda. You are the better fighter,” Freya says, not out of obedience, but out of genuine reverence.

“Perhaps.” She offers the hilt again, and this time, Freya takes it.

She grabs onto it carefully, her eyes sweeping across the blade, her fingers mapping the imprints of Lexa’s grip from years of use.  

Lexa turns to Jon. “Again,” she says, and they lower into their stance once more.

The results are much the same, except that when Lexa lowers the sword, she clinks it against the one in Freya’s hand and nods. “Fully unsheathed this time.”

“Sha, Heda.”

“It was easier to wield mine than the new one.”

“Sha.”

“Now. One last time.” Lexa uses the sword in her hand to flick up Freya’s previously discarded, personal sword. “Your own sword, against Raven’s new one.”

Freya nods and holds Lexa’s sword out for her to take back.

“Just toss it.”

“Heda–”

“It’s just a sword, Freya,” Lexa says, grinning.

With much hesitation the sparring instructor drops the sword and nudges it aside, once again dropping down into her stance. At Jon’s final and resounding shout, the two warriors burst into action, each gripping their hilts, each gliding their swords out of the sheathes.

They reach their draw at the same time, the metal of the swords clanging violently together as they both go to pin the other. Through the junction of their blades, Lexa grins at the instructor, her black warpaint sparkling under the sweat and sun. “Too heavy,” she repeats, and Freya nods, grinning back. They separate, and Lexa pierces the ground with the sword, leaving it stuck in the mud as she steps away. “Tell Raven to keep working. The idea is there.”

“Sha, Heda.”

“Is that all?”

“I have Orion’s new bow for longer range. We can try if you’d like. Or wait until tomorrow.”

Lexa looks up at the position of the sun, then takes stock of her hunger and fatigue. A part of her is ready to retreat back to her room, but the other part of her, the warrior in her, is having too much fun playing with the new toys. She shrugs and turns back to the instructor. “Let’s give it a go.”

Freya retreats into the shed and returns with a long bow, nearly the length of Lexa herself. Lexa takes it, running her fingertips over the smooth, white wood. “Birch?”

“Orion says it gives more.”

“For the longer draw.”

“Sha.”

“What is the range?”

“Orion bolsters that with practice, an arrow from this bow can fly up to 280 yards.”

Lexa hums, raising the bow into position. She draws back on the string, and rests it against her jaw, testing her line of sight. She lowers it again and turns to Jon. “Grab a dye pack and take a horse to the southernmost target.” She turns back to Freya. “How far is that?”

“300.”

“And my record?”

“260.”

Lexa nods and walks over to the fence enclosing their sparring space. She leans the bow against it and slips out of her coat, sighing as the cool air finally reaches her damp, glistening skin. Not usually one for bearing the skin of her arms unless hand-to-hand sparring, the high sun of the day necessitates it as she leans against the fence and waits for Jon to travel the distance to the target.

“Water, Heda?”

“Please.”  

Freya hands her a bottle and Lexa greedily gulps it down, letting it spill down her chin and onto her chest.

“How were your meetings?”

“Long,” Lexa sighs, catching her breath and handing the water back. “Too long.”

“Trouble in the clans?”

Lexa hums, looking out over the fields. “Quite the opposite. An abundance of peace and too much time on their hands. Everyone wants to expand, wants to develop new crops, wants to…learn and teach new trades. It’s a wonderful thing, and I encourage it. However, when it makes me miss lunch with my family, I find myself caring less and less about Flodonkru’s desire for another dam and Azgeda’s desire for more farming land,” she says with a teasing grin that makes Freya chuckle.

“Hei, Freya!  **Chit yo diyo bilaik**?”

Lexa and Freya turn at the young voice of the girl wandering up to the fence. The young girl stops in her tracks at the sight of Lexa, clearly not recognizing her from behind given Lexa’s less than formal attire.

“Forgive me, Heda,” she breathes, her eyes wide as she lowers to her knee.

Lexa smiles at her and beckons her up. “No harm done, yongon. Come, we’re testing out a new bow.”

The girl scrambles to her feet and shuffles forward, a bundle of both nerves and excitement. Lexa hands her the bow to inspect, and for a moment, Lexa is reminded of Costia – the way the girl’s braids hang, the beautiful melanin in her skin, the strong, nimble fingers of someone confident with a bow.

“Yu laik Trikru.”

The girl looks up at Lexa with wide eyes and nods, “Sha, heda,” she says, almost whispering.

“Laik ai.”

The girl beams at her and nods once again.

“What is your name?”

“Ana.”

“Ana. You were born for the bow. What do you think of this one?”

The girl looks back to the bow and runs her fingers over it. “It’s nice, Heda.”

Lexa hums, watching Ana turn the weapon over in her hands, studying it. “Would you like to try it?” The girl’s eyes snap up to her in disbelief, and Lexa chuckles, taking the bow back. “Climb over, then.”

Ana hops over the fence, seeming to grow inches in confidence as her feet hit the sandy dirt of the sparring ring. Lexa hands her the bow and steps back, giving the girl space to test it out. It’s too big for the girl’s frame, but Lexa remains back, wanting her to adjust, wanting her to figure out how to use it anyways.

She’s mildly aware of the small crowd beginning to gather at the fence upon the sight of their Heda spending so much time in one place. She’s hardly recognizable to them with her shoulders and arms on display under her tanktop, her hair braided up out of her face, and her easy, relaxed stance as she rests against the fence.

Ana turns back to her and pales at the sight of the crowd, but Lexa gives her an encouraging nod.  

“Heda, Jon is at the target with the dye pouch,” Freya says off seeing Jon waving his flag in notification.

“Let’s see what Ana here can do first.” Lexa settles back into the fence and crosses her arms, pleased with the rare luxury of getting to spend time with her people.

Ana raises her arms and draws the bow string back to her chin. Lexa watches the girl’s back slow with her breathing, coming almost completely to a stop. Her legs stand powerfully against the ground, her shoulders firm, her fingers gentle but sure around the string. She is so very much like Costia, so much like Lexa when she was young. She is the epitome of Trikru, and it’s moments like these that Lexa feels a biased fondness for her home clan.

In a flash, Ana releases the bow and it whistles as it flies through the air in a fast, powerful arc. The crowd watches it blur against the clouds, tracking it even beyond visibility, finding it again on its descent. It falls quickly and stabs the earth of the field just beyond them, traveling perhaps 100-150 yards. The crowd cheers for the girl’s feat, and Lexa’s gives her a warrior’s shake, rewarding her with a smile and a clap on the back as she returns to the crowd, blushing fiercely.

“What now?” Lexa asks, grinning at and playing the crowd. “Shall I give it a shot?”

The crowd roars in approval, chanting her name, clapping and laughing and having a grand old time. Freya hands her the bow with a smile and steps back. Lexa, again, tests the bow in her hands, feeling the weight and balance of it along her palm. She’s so engrossed in her studying that she does not hear the way the crowd suddenly quiets and ripples into reverent murmurs. She doesn’t hear the muttered adorations of “Klinheda,” or see the way the crowd parts to allow the Commander of Life up to the front of the fence. She doesn’t notice the way the crowd grows jolly once more as Klinheda waves off their formalities and encourages them in their fun, or the way that she leans towards the people at her sides, making bets on Lexa’s abilities.

Lexa notices none of it as she takes her time with this bow, enamored by its craft and reverent of its power. Before being brought to Polis as a child, the bow had been the only thing she knew of weaponry. Being the weapon of choice for her clansmen, she’d grown up fearing and respecting the bow, working at it, walking past the stalls of bow makers on her way to and from home. The bow had been at the heart of Trikru cultuer, but with the sword being the traditional weapon of the Commander, it’d been a while since Lexa had been able to spend time with a bow as beautifully and skillfully crafted as this one.

“Are you going to shoot it or are you just going to stare at it?”

This, Lexa does hear. Her head whips up at the taunt and she smiles at the familiar voice. “Shoot it! Shoot it!” Shouts another, much smaller voice. Lexa turns and finds the culprits in the crowd, grinning at their antics. She holds her hand up and the crowd quiets, watching her attentively.

“Do you want me to shoot it?” She asks them, and they cheer. “Very well.” She turns back around towards the target, raising the bow. It’s all muscle memory, perhaps the only thing more natural to her than command, the only thing left of her that is more Lexa kom Trikru than it is Heda kom Polis.

She stays her breathing and waits until her heart has slowed inside her chest. She closes an eye and lines up her sight with her knuckles around the grip and the target she can sense more than she can see. She takes stock of the slight breeze on her cheek and confirms its direction in the rustle of the leaves around her, allowing herself a moment to still even further. She closes her eyes and hears her father’s voice in her ear, his large hand, guiding her elbows. She hears Costia’s young giggle as she fixes her fingers on the bowstring. Next is Anya’s voice telling her to stay still, then Gus’ quiet words of encouragement, reminding her of the wind and the arc of the arrow. She hears them all until they boil down into the singular, sweet little voice of her daughter: “You’re da bestest warrior ever!” Lexa smiles and opens her eyes, finding the tiny dot of the target 300 yards away.

She breathes deep, and on her exhale, releases the arrow. It’s immediately apparent that it will travel further than Ana’s. It splits the air with much more force than young girl’s, the whistle loud and high-pitched at first. It travels high into the path of the sun and disappears for a long while as the crowd watches on, trying to follow it.  For a moment, the crowd grows antsy as the bow refuses to come back down. They fidget nervously for their Heda, wanting her to succeed, wanting to believe, like her daughter, that she is the greatest warrior among them.

Lexa doesn’t lower the bow right away, not wanting her movement to disrupt the follow through and trajectory. She waits, breathing deep, squinting against the sun to track her arrow through the sky. “Look against the clouds,” her father had told her once, “like a black bird, it will show.” She tracks it across the two fields and into the third, watching it’s descent straight towards the target. She grins as it connects, and lowers the bow as the dye pack explodes red across the round target.  

She turns to the cheering crowd and takes a teasing bow, earning her bellowing laughs and more cheers. She finds Klinheda in the crowd and sees Ambassador Penn next to her, smiling at it all. The ambassador nods at her in thanks and Lexa nods back, returning her small smile before turning to the rest of her people and greeting them.

By the time the crowd as cleared out, Lexa is exhausted and hungry, but filled to the brim with satisfaction. She hands Freya the bow and stretches her neck and wrists. “Tell Orion he has done an amazing job, and ask him to begin replicating them immediately. We should start training the warriors on these as soon as possible. They will change the efficiency of hunting tenfold.” Freya nods and sets off, leaving Lexa alone in the ring.

“That was a pretty fancy show you put on there, Commander.”

Or so she thought. She grins and turns to find Clarke smiling at her, baby nestled against her chest in a sling. Lexa crosses to her and takes Clarke’s cheeks between her hands, kissing her soundly in ‘hello.’ When Clarke sighs into her lips, it’s like the entirety of the day’s stresses are forgotten and Lexa feels new again. She pulls back and stares at her wife, still completely enamored by those blue eyes.

“Have fun?”

Lexa grins again and nods, running her finger down their sleeping baby’s nose. “Where is her sister?”

“She was here a moment ago, cheering for the greatest warrior ever, but then she took off with her friends.” 

“The bestest warrior ever,” Lexa corrects, slipping the baby out of her sling. As if sensing the new presence, the baby girl’s eyes blink open and Lexa is again confronted with the startling reality of just how deeply in love one can fall with a certain shade of blue. “ **Monin kom sintaim, ai fyucha** ,” she murmurs, kissing the baby on the forehead.

“We missed you at lunch,” Clarke says softly, watching them fondly.

“The meeting went long. Meetings which you chose to neglect,” Lexa jabs, not unkindly.

“They bore me,” Clarke chuckles, “and I’m not needed when you are here.”

“You are always needed, ai hodnes. You are our voice of reason.”

“I am the voice of Polis for you when you are gone or can’t travel. No point in needing a Polis Ambassador when the meetings are here and the Commander is in. I become redundant, and I’d rather be outside.”

Lexa grins at her wanderlust wife and shakes her head as she plays with their baby’s little hand. “You could never be redundant, niron. But I don’t blame you for wanting to be outside. Even though it is hotter than a fire pit.”

“It’s wonderful out,” Clarke says, throwing her head back. “The birds are singing, there’s a fresh breeze, the markets are full.” She returns her gaze to Lexa. “It’s beautiful.”

Lexa hums and grabs her coat off the fence with her free hand. Careful not to jostle the little one, she climbs between the wooden rungs and steps out of the ring, joining Clarke in the sunshine.

“Heda–” Jon rounds the corner, holding up the ruptured dye pack with a wide grin on his face.

She smiles at him and takes the pack, looking it over.

“Very impressive,” Clarke muses, a hint of joking to her mostly reverent observation.

“Klinheda,” Jon gasps, as if just now noticing her presence. He drops to his knee, and stares at the ground, ashamed of his negligence.

Clarke sighs and crouches down, tilting her head to catch the boy’s attention. “Jon.” He glances up at her, looking apologetic and perhaps a little enamored. “We’ve talked about this before. This isn’t necessary.” He nods and she helps him to his feet, dusting off his pants and ruffling his hair.

“Would you like to keep this?” Lexa asks, holding out the pack.

Jon nods and takes it graciously, unable to hide his smile before she sends him on his way.

“Will you hold her for a moment?” Lexa turns to Clarke and hands her the baby before slipping into her coat.

“I like that look on you.”

“What look?”

Clarke gestures to her torso and grins, cheeky. “The open coat look.”

“I’m simply hot, Clarke.”

“Well, that’s for sure.” Lexa is just barely able to restrain the flush that wants to flower like bruises upon her cheeks as they take up a stroll, hand in hand, through the markets. “So, any particular reason Ambassador Penn cornered me at the fruit stands earlier today?”

Lexa laughs, waving to the vendors who stop to shout greetings to her. “She was looking for advice.”

“On how to be a leader and a mother.”

“Yes.”

“And you couldn’t give her advice because…?”

“I was tired.”

“Ah.” Clarke bites back a smile and takes skewer that is handed to her as they pass through the meat stands.

“Did you advise her?”

“I was beginning to. And then we heard there was something exciting happening at the sparring rings. Which meant you were up to no good.”

Lexa scoffs and nudges her wife’s hip with her own. “I was doing my duty. Testing out new weaponry.”

“You were playing with toys, Lexa kom Trikru, my great warrior child.”

Lexa grins and raises their baby to her lips, kissing her tiny nose. “She will know what it’s like to hold the power of a bow in her hands before she can run. It’s the Trikru way. It’s important that I maintain my skills so that I can pass them down to her.”

Clarke leans her head on Lexa’s shoulder and stares down at their little girl. “She grows more like you every day.”

“Yes?”

“Mm. She’s inquisitive and thoughtful. And stubborn,” she adds, scrunching up her nose at their now smiling baby.

“She sounds like you, then.”

Before Clarke can retort, there is a blur in her periphery and a wild little grounder comes skidding across the dirt and slams into Lexa’s legs. Lexa peers down and finds herself staring at a girl so in her likeness it’s like looking at her reflection in the lake.

“Hei, nomon,” the little thing squeaks, her cheeks covered in dirt, her messy braids falling into her face, but none of that putting a damper on the wide smile she casts up at her mother.

“ **Hei, ai strik deimeika** ,” Lexa laughs and runs her hands through her daughter’s hair until the tangles force her to retreat.  " **Shopta**?“

**“Os!”**

“Os,” Lesa chuckles, grinning down at her little wildling.  

**“Fyucha?”**

“She’s awake.” Lexa crouches down and hands the baby to her sister.

While Lexa is with the girls, Clarke drifts over to the fruit stands and eyes the different berries she hadn’t gotten to look at before when she’d been interrupted by the ambassador. She chats idly with the vendor she’d become very fond of over the years of her many visits, the fruit stands having quickly become her favorite after she’d permanently settled in Polis.

“I have a gift for you,” the old man says, disappearing behind his hut for a moment. When he returns, he holds out a round, aluminum tin to her and grins his toothless grin as Clarke peers into it. Her eyes light up at the rare, sweet berries she’d become nearly addicted to upon her first arrival in Polis. When they were dating, Lexa had taken it upon herself to buy them and leave them anonymously on Clarke’s pillow, until one day Clarke had caught her, quite literally, red handed.  

They’d disappeared for years after that, only returning the spring Clarke was pregnant with Adler, their oldest. Just in time for her cravings, Lexa had jokingly made an effort to point out. But again, they’d left just as quickly, right after Adler’s second year, and Clarke hadn’t seen them since. She’d long stopped asking the sweet old man if they’d come back into harvest, so she’s utterly surprised when she peers into the tin and gets a whiff of their sweet, distinctive smell. She hugs him and tries several times to give him something in return, but he waves her off and urges her back to her family with the gift in tow.

“Where did you run off to?” Lexa asks, Adler now on her back and the baby back in her arms.

“I have a surprise.”

“The last time you said that, I was one child lighter.” Clarke laughs and playfully smacks her on the arm before holding up the tin. “What’s this?”

“The surprise.”

Lexa peers into the tin and immediately smiles, looking up at Clarke like a child at first snowfall. “Jus berries?”

“What’s that!” Adler shouts, crawling up Lexa’s back and peering over her shoulder.

“Your mother’s favorite berry,” Lexa says, scooping one out and handing it to the little monkey on her back. Adler takes it and pops it into her mouth, brow furrowed as she tests out the flavor.

“You loved these when you were a baby,” Clarke muses, taking a few berries and popping them into her mouth. “I used to bring you to nomon in between meetings. We’d sit in the throne room and have lunch together and we’d nestle you in your blankets on nomon’s lap.”

“I like them!”

Lexa chuckles and ruffles her daughter’s hair over her shoulder. “When you first tried them, they were too sweet for you. You used to scrunch your face up and squirm around, but still, you wanted them.”

“Can we give one to Amina?”

“She’s sleeping now. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Can we do lunch  **moron** , nomon? Like when I was a fyucha?”

Lexa smiles at her little family and leans into the kiss Clarke presses to her cheek. “ **Sha, strikon**. Of course.”

“Like old times,” Clarke muses, smiling. “Before nosy Ice Nation ambassadors and showing off Hedas.”

Lexa rolls her eyes, but nods. She hands the baby back to Clarke and pulls Adler up to her shoulders as they resume their stroll through the markets, the three of them munching on berries and enjoying the sunshine, even if it is hot as a fire pit.

* * *

**Translations:**

**Bants - Leave!**

**Hod op - Wait!**

**Breim em au - let him go**

**Nomon - mother**

**Klinheda - Commander of Life**

**Kongeda - Coalition**

**Chit yu diyo bilaik? What are you doing?**

**Monin kom sintaim, ai fyucha - Welcom to the day, my baby.**

**Hei, ai strik deimeika - Hello, my little sun.**

**Shopta? - How are you?**

**Os! - Good!**

**Fyucha? - The baby?**

**Moron? - Tomorrow?**

**Sha, strikon - Yes, little one.**


End file.
